


Against All Odds

by silveritas



Series: Against All Odds (A Pride and Prejudice Story) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Are Twins, Allison Argent is a Disney Princess, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Asshole Peter Hale, Basically Pride and Prejudice Stereked, Derek Hale is a Softie, Derek is a Snob, Disappointing, Everyone is a Werewolf, F/F, F/M, I'm Sorry Jane Austen, Liam is a Cinnamon Roll, M/M, Malia Tate is not Peter Hale's Daughter, Mason is boy crazy, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Sassy Danny Mahealani, Semi-feral Malia, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Snarky Stiles, Stiles has panic attacks and the beginnings of panic attacks, Trash Fic, Unoriginal, seriously read the author's notes, they're there for a reason y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveritas/pseuds/silveritas
Summary: It is a universally acknowledged truth that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a mate.Or...An unoriginal adaptation of Pride and Prejudice with Teen Wolf characters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let's not pretend this is anything more than what it is. I have unashamedly adapted Jane Austen's perfect novel Pride and Prejudice as a Sterek fic. I will burn in the 6th circle of hell (heresy) for this. 
> 
> As a side note and an alert, this fic has recently received a review for being unoriginal and disappointing! So, if you're in the mood to be disappointed by an unoriginal pile of drivel that is at its most basic an insertion of TW characters into P&P and understand that this is not much more ambitious than a late night idea to help with creative block, then look no further! Actually do look further, though. The rest of the notes are important, mostly. Kind of. 
> 
> Anyway, if you've ever been like me, watching Pride and Prejudice for the five thousandth time, and thought it would make a great Sterek retelling, then welcome friend! I honestly hashed this thing out months ago, but the spring semester got in the way of editing and posting. It is completed, pending heavy edits, and I hope to post it in chunks as I go. As a general rule and with full knowledge of being a trash person, I typically do not post anything unless I can post it in its entirety, so I'm taking a chance on me here and posting it in installments. 
> 
> The rating will also go up and tags will be added as chapters are added. Please be aware of that. I am totally aware that Jane Austen probably didn't write any terrible language or explicit scenes, but I am incapable of abstaining from either, so there will be bad words and some explicit stuff at the end. 
> 
> Also, there is A/B/O in this fic. Alphas are treated as land and title owners, like men were back in the day, while betas and omegas are generally denied both unless married. Most of the A/B/O stuff applies here. Again, check the tags and rating if you're unsure that you want to proceed. 
> 
> If you're picky about your casting, the main couples are Derek and Stiles as Darcy and Lizzy, and Scott and Allison as Bingley and Jane. I played pretty fast and loose with a lot of things, but I wasn't super creative with the story. Just twisting and bending things until they fit decently enough, but it's still a heavily lifted hybrids of the novel and the most recent film adaptation. I barely even bothered changing some of the names of places. See? Trash person. But I'm pleased I actually finished something. :D

It is a universally acknowledged truth that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a mate. 

 

At least that's what Stiles has heard his entire life from everyone he's ever met. When he presented as an omega at thirteen, droves of well-meaning older betas and omegas assured him that it would only be a matter of time before some eligible alpha snatched him up and mated him. He found it an unappealing prospect then and he finds it equally unappealing now. He enjoys his independence, thank you very much.

 

He and his twin sister have been helping their father run their house and raise their younger siblings since their mother passed when they were ten. It's not always been easy, but it's been worth it, even with the pitying looks of those who disapproved of his father not taking another mate. It seemed improper to them that he would allow his eldest children, responsible though they were, to spend their time doing anything other than searching for a mate.

 

Beacon Hills is a relatively quiet town in a relatively quiet county, so news travels fast, especially when concerning unmated, wealthy alphas.

 

“Have you heard?” Stiles hears Mason say to Liam. “Netherfield has a new owner. They say it's an alpha. A very wealthy alpha.”

 

Stiles snorts and gives Allison a sideways glance. She merely raises an eyebrow. They both know where this is headed.

 

“As if he'd be interested in  _ you _ ,” Malia snarks.

 

“He _ could _ be!” Mason replies. 

 

From there it devolves into the three younger Stilinski children bickering over an alpha they've never met, are not likely to hold society with, and have an even slimmer chance of catching his eye. Although knee-deep in the chaos, Stiles grudgingly admits, Liam is only trying to keep the peace. Loudly and clumsily, but he's trying.

 

Stiles looks out the window and he and Allison spot their father coming down the drive at the same time and rush to greet him.

 

“Don't go into the parlor,” Allison warns and John's face scrunches. 

 

“What now?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. Stiles sympathizes. 

 

“It appears as though we're getting a new neighbor,” Stiles reports.

 

“Oh?” John perks up a bit as they make their way into his study.

 

“If rumour is to be believed, a wealthy alpha has bought Netherfield and means to move in within the week,” Stiles says, watching John all but collapse into his overstuffed desk chair. 

 

“Unmated?” John asks. 

 

“Naturally,” Allison answers. 

 

“That seems about right,” John nods. “Mason and Malia are fighting?”

 

Allison and Stiles nod while grimacing. They were easier when they were younger. Now that they're all of age and their hormones are in control, they're all moody and full of themselves.

 

“Well, I'll have to call on him when he's moved in, otherwise there will be no peace in this house,” John sighs. 

 

“There will be no peace if you  _ do _ ,” Stiles says.

 

“And that, son, is my burden to bear,” John says.

  
~*~  
  


Stiles is right. Despite all attempts at secrecy, Stiles’s younger siblings find out about their father's trip to Netherfield and descend upon him like a plague of locusts the moment he returns. Their badgering does nothing to elicit information regarding their new neighbor from their father. Stiles is curious, and he knows Allison is as well, but neither are as desperate as their siblings to know more. 

 

It's not until Kira visits the next day that they learn anything new.

 

“Oh! He's very handsome,” Kira nods and smiles and gushes. “He's around our age too. And my father says his manners are impeccable. Oh! And he intends to come to the next assembly with his packmates!”

 

Stiles shares a look with Allison as their younger siblings oooh and ahh at all Kira has to say. It seems as though Mr. Scott McCall had been plucked from the heavens to answer the prayers of every young, eligible beta and omega in the county. 

 

Stiles pities him. He hasn't been in residence for a week and already everyone fancies themselves engaged to him. But at five thousand a year, who could blame them?

 

“He sounds dreamy,” Mason sighs. 

 

“He is,” Kira agrees.

 

“I hope he dances with me-us! I hope he dances with all of us,” Mason says. “Dancing is such a good way to get to know someone.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Malia curls her lip. “You can dance with him all you want, but I'd rather cut off my own hand.”

 

Good old Malia. Stiles has to turn away so that no one sees him laughing. He tries not to encourage her if possible, but he's often caught off guard.

 

“What do you think, Ally?” Stiles asks as she joins him to the side. “Think you'll catch the eye of the illustrious Mr. McCall?”

 

“I doubt I'll stand out from the others,” she says, far too modest of herself for Stiles’s liking. “Besides, I fear I am far too plain to draw the attention of anyone of his station.”

 

“Don't sell yourself short,” Stiles says, bumping shoulders with her. “You're the prettiest girl I know and you have qualities that those elitist socialites could never hope for.”

 

“Thanks, Stiles,” she gives him a small smile. “You always know exactly what to say. What would I ever do without you?”

 

“Oh, I don't doubt you'd manage just fine,” he says, drawing her into a hug while Kira and their younger siblings continue to gossip. 

  
~*~

 

The day of the assembly sees the Stilinski house in a state of chaos as dresses and waist coats are searched for, tried on, discarded, and then tried again. Mason helps Allison with her hair, and Stiles spends half an hour explaining to Malia that she has to go and can't spend the entire assembly ball in the pantry at home. She's sullen when she emerges, but allows Stiles to wrangle her into a dress and make a barely passable attempt at taming her hair. She seems pleased at her deranged appearance and Stiles can't find it in himself to ruin her good mood.

 

They all pile into the carriage, John grimacing at having to be crowded into a carriage with two excited teens, his eldest two, and Malia. Parties are not John Stilinski’s idea of a good time. Stiles knows his father would rather be at home with a glass of brandy, a quiet fire, and a book, but with no alphas in the family save him, he does his duty and chaperones them. 

 

Stiles wonders sometimes why it is his father doesn't try to marry them off. Not that he's complaining. He rather enjoys his father's relaxed attitude of letting them all find their own way in the world. It's how their mother would have wanted it anyway.

 

His musings are cut short as they arrive at the already bustling hall. Mason whines that they're late and that they've missed Mr. McCall’s introduction, but Stiles knows they haven't yet as theirs and the Yukimuras’ carriages are the finest in the lot so far. 

 

Stiles and Allison are quick to detach and find Kira in the din. She's a friendly girl, but entirely too shy to situate herself in the middle of the party, which Stiles and Allison both appreciate.

 

“I assume we haven't missed anything?” Stiles hedges, keeping an eye out for his siblings as he also notices his father settle into a dim corner with Mr. Yukimura and his eldest child and Kira’s brother, Danny. Danny, like Stiles and Kira, is an unmated omega. 

 

“Not yet,” Kira says brightly. “You look so beautiful, Allison.”

 

“Thank you,” Allison blushes. “You're as beautiful as ever tonight yourself.”

 

“Thank you,” Kira returns, bright smile fading a little before she continues. “I sometimes envy you two. Your father doesn't seem at all focused on marrying you off. Both of my parents have high expectations for me and my brother tonight. If not Mr. McCall--which I don't think is even in the realm of possibility--then they're hopeful to match me with one of his companions,” she says, her face falling with every confession.

 

“It'll be okay, Kira,” Stiles assures her as Allison wraps an arm around her slender waist.

 

“Don't give up,” Allison encourages her. “If it's true love you want, then hold out. And if your parents make a fuss, then come live with us. You'll have to deal with Malia and Mason, but no one will try to marry you off.”

 

“Thank you,” Kira smiles, her bubbly brightness returning. “I couldn't do that to them, but I'm glad to know I've got friends like you.”

 

“Always,” Stiles promises as the doors to the hall open to admit a new party.

 

The music tapers off and everyone turns to see a group in very fine clothing. Mr. McCall has finally arrived and is introduced with his pack. He's as handsome as rumour had it with soft, dark eyes; a head of thick, dark hair; and a roguish smile on his mouth. His packmates are introduced after him. Lydia Martin with fiery red hair, alabaster skin, and green eyes leads the way confidently, followed by Erica Reyes with her mane of golden curls; Vernon Boyd, Erica’s tall, muscled mate; Isaac Lahey, an angelic beta; and finally their Pack Alpha. 

 

Even if he hadn't been introduced as such, there would be no mistaking Derek Hale as anything but an alpha. He's tall and broad with raven hair, a heavy brow, and an aristocratic profile. His jaw looks like it could cut glass and is artfully covered in equally dark stubble. His eyes are piercing as they survey the room, and Stiles can't quite make out their color. He wants to say they're green, but he can't be sure from this distance. 

 

Derek's bearing exudes confidence and authority, and Stiles can't help but feel himself go a little weak in the knees. He blames his omega nature entirely. All eyes are on Mr. Hale as he trails his pack in forbidding silence. He seems not to revel in the attention in the least. 

 

“Well, he seems positively miserable,” Stiles comments.

 

“I heard that he has an income of ten thousand a year,” Kira whispers to both of them as they all watch the pack move to the front of the hall. 

 

“That's ridiculous,” Stiles snorts. 

 

The music starts up again and Erica pulls her mate to the floor to take part in the next dance, her smile sharp and bright. 

 

“He resides in Pemberley and owns over half of the Preserve,” Kira says.

 

“What? The miserable half?” Stiles smirks.

 

“Stiles!” Allison slaps his shoulder. 

 

“I'm just saying,” Stiles shrugs.

 

It takes less time than Stiles would have guessed for Mr. Hale’s sour, haughty disposition to tilt the attitude of the hall away from favoring him. Stiles reckons that all of the money and looks in the world could not recommend anyone to look past a most sour demeanor.

 

Mr. McCall, by contrast, is all smiles. Stiles notes a crooked jaw accentuated by his numerous toothy grins that earns him more than one favorable opinion amongst those in attendance. And when they're finally introduced, the look Mr. McCall gives Allison is soft and affectionate enough for Stiles to believe he's a good soul who has fallen in love at first sight.

 

“May I have the honor of the next dance with you, Miss Argent?” Mr. McCall asks, all puppy dog eyes and earnestness. 

 

“You may,” Allison curtsies and smiles, cheeks flushing as the band begins a new song. 

 

Mr. McCall holds his hand out to Allison and she takes it, letting him lead her to the floor and not leave her side for at least five dances. Stiles loses count and instead keeps Kira company. 

 

“Allison looks so happy,” Kira says with a fond smile.

 

“She does,” Stiles agrees.

 

“And Mr. McCall seems smitten,” Kira adds and Stiles nods. “If she wants to keep his attention, she must make him aware of her feelings.”

 

Stiles turns a questioning look at her words.

 

“We both know how Allison keeps things to herself,” Kira explains. “We know her, sure. But she could be mistaken for indifferent if she's not obvious in her intentions. Alphas are not nearly as perceptive as we give them credit for, despite having such strong noses, and need proper encouragement to fall in love.”

 

“You're right. I'll see what I can do,” Stiles nods. 

 

After the fifth dance, Allison is commandeered by Mr. Lahey at the permission of Mr. McCall. She's all smiles again for the angelic beta as Mr. McCall takes a break for refreshment and conversation with Mr. Hale. Stiles and Kira don't mean to overhear, but they're fairly close and Mr. McCall isn't exactly quiet.

 

“Are you going to dance? Or are you going to remain a dark shadow in the corner all night?” Mr. McCall asks. 

 

“You know I don't dance,” Mr. Hale responds and Stiles has to consciously mask his reaction to the alpha’s voice. It's rough from remaining silent most of the night, but it's not nearly as deep or growly as Stiles had imagined. “Especially if I am not acquainted with my partner. It would be punishment to force such a thing on me.”

 

“You do everyone here an injustice,” Mr. McCall argues. “I have never been in the presence of so many handsome dance partners.”

 

“You have capitalized the only handsome dance partner in the room,” Mr. Hale mutters and Mr. McCall scoffs.

 

“While I agree that Miss Argent is unparalleled in her beauty, I believe her twin is equally as agreeable,” Mr. McCall says. “At least let me introduce you. He's just over there.”

 

Stiles freezes as Mr. McCall points directly at him. Mr. Hale’s light, piercing gaze follows. It has Stiles’s heart hammering in his chest and his pulse racing in his ears. Oh god, he's going to throw up. 

 

Kira places a calming hand on his arm and he feels the world right itself as Mr. Hale dismisses the prospect of meeting him.

 

“Yes, he's tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me,” Mr. Hale says and suddenly Stiles’s nerves are replaced with burning indignation. “You'd better see to your partner before Isaac steals her, McCall.”

 

“One day someone is going to make you eat your words, Derek, and I sincerely hope I'm there to see it,” Mr. McCall shakes his head as he leaves Mr. Hale to take Allison off of Mr. Lahey’s hands again.

 

“Don't feel bad, Stiles,” Kira soothes him. “If he'd liked you, then you'd have had to talk with him.”

 

“That would have been a tragedy for sure,” Stiles gives her a tight smile. 

 

It smarts being insulted thusly, but he has a genial disposition and is in good company almost all days. And he can't wait to tell Allison about the insufferable Mr. Hale and his poor manners.

 

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly. Stiles is asked to dance by everyone from the Netherfield party except Mr. Hale. He finds Mr. McCall to be just as genuine as his smile suggests, Mr. Lahey to be kind and cordial, Miss Reyes to be sharp and slightly terrifying, Miss Martin to be as graceful as she is beautiful, and Mr. Boyd to be well mannered and taciturn. 

 

The carriage ride home is quiet but quick. Mason and Liam stumble to their shared room leaning heavily on one another while Malia disappears to almost certainly tear her dress off. Stiles and Allison bid their father goodnight as they're exhausted. Stiles knows John will want to discuss Mr. McCall and his obvious favor of Allison, but that can wait.

 

They make their way upstairs to their room and make ready for bed. Stiles collapses to the mattress first, throwing open the covers for Allison to slip in. She's all smiles and he can't help but smile back.

 

“You seem in fine spirits,” Stiles says. “And Mr. McCall seemed quite taken with you.”

 

“Did he?” she lights up. “Oh Stiles, he's so handsome and kind. He's everything a young alpha should be. I can't help but hope for something more.”

 

“I'm sure he does too,” Stiles says. “I heard him declare you the most beautiful creature in the hall tonight to his friend Mr. Hale.”

 

“He did?” she smiles wider and blushes, her dark eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

 

“He did,” Stiles confirms and then regales her with his tale of overhearing their conversation.

 

“What a terrible man!” Allison gasps at Mr. Hale’s behavior. “I cannot believe someone so close to Mr. McCall could be so prideful.”

 

“I assure you that I feel no loss at not gaining his favor, and I would not have thought twice at his pride had he not wounded mine,” Stiles says. “I fear nothing could recommend me to dance with him at future balls now, handsome and rich or not.”

 

“I should not wish such an uninviting alpha to be inflicted upon anyone, especially my own dear brother, but never say never,” Allison advises and Stiles grumbles but acknowledges the wisdom in her words. However unlikely he believes it, he's had to walk back too many absolute statements to dismiss her. “I am truly sorry he offended you so. I wish your night had been like mine.”

 

“Don't fret, Ally,” Stiles smiles at her and squeezes her hand. “I had a wonderful time dancing with Mr. McCall’s packmates, and when I wasn't engaged otherwise, I kept company with Kira and Danny.”

 

“I am glad,” Allison says as she leans over and snuffs out their candle. “I hope Mr. McCall calls on us soon,” she says as she settles down into Stiles’s arms.

 

“He will,” Stiles mumbles into her hair. “If he doesn't, then he's a fool.”

  
  
~*~  
  
  


The Stilinski house, though not as grand as the likes of Netherfield, is funded by a modest but comfortable income. John Stilinski’s estate commands two thousand per year, which in the absence of alpha heirs is entailed to a distant relation, and his late wife's fortune was set aside long ago for each child upon their marriage. 

 

Stiles and Allison understand their situation, but their younger siblings care not for money. Fortunately for Liam and Mason, and even grudgingly Malia, they are well off enough to indulge in weekly trips to Beacon Hills proper for shopping. 

 

The town center is but a half hour’s walk from their manor, and Stiles enjoys waking to clear his head enough that he doesn't mind accompanying the lot of them with Allison by his side. They've been rowdy and intolerable every since the assembly and the promise of an invitation for the future Netherfield ball, and finally their father conceded to letting them go to town. Liam and Mason are now dying for new cravats. Stiles’s knows Liam is aiming to impress Miss Hayden Romero at the upcoming ball, while Mason aims to expand his collection. Malia grunts out “ribbon” with a glare when asked what she needs from the shops. 

 

“What about you?” Stiles nudges Allison's shoulder with his own as they watch Liam and Mason argue over patterns versus solids while Malia holds up two similarly colored ribbons while looking disgusted. 

 

“I would rather they get something that pleases them than use my share for anything new,” Allison says with a tiny smile, not enough to show off her dimples. 

 

“I call bullshit,” Stiles says softly.

 

“Don't let papa hear you speak in such a manner!” she thumps him hard on the arm.

 

“Or what? He'll chastise me for ruining my chances of getting a nice, respectable mate?” Stiles snorts derisively. 

 

“It's unbecoming,” she says haughtily.

 

“So it is,” Stiles agrees. “The question still stands. What would you like to buy to help catch the eye of Mr. McCall at the ball at Netherfield?”

 

“Who's to say it's for him?” she raises an eyebrow.

 

“Because I know you,” Stiles says. “I also know that you need to encourage Mr. McCall in every way you can to fall in love with you. Alphas are rather clueless and you tend to play everything close to the vest. Let him know you mean business or he may only ever just like you instead of letting himself fall in love.”

 

“It's so hard to be open,” she says with a slight frown.

 

“I know,” Stiles says. “But Mr. McCall is very open. Maybe let his confidence and friendliness guide yours. Make him feel special, too, and I know you'll have him eating out of your hand in no time. Leave the pups to me.”

 

“You _ are _ better with Malia than I am,” Allison concedes.

 

“I'm not sure how that happened,” Stiles agrees and then takes her hand. “Let's pick to out something that sparkles for your hair. I bet Mr. McCall likes shiny things.”

 

“You're terrible,” Allison laughs, allowing him to take her into the store.

 

Stiles insists that Allison try on every sparkly headpiece in the shop. They laugh and smile more than they normally do and settle on a comb with silver leaves offset by rhinestones that look like twinkling stars in her dark hair. 

 

“But what about you?”

 

“Oh, I'll make do,” Stiles says, giving her his allowance to add to hers. 

 

There's a commotion as the shopkeeper wraps up their purchase. They turn in time to see Mason and Liam burst through the shop's door, Malia trailing behind.

 

“Stiles! Ally!” Mason greets them breathlessly. “The regiment! Officers! Here!”

 

Stiles glances to Malia who rolls her eyes.

 

“A militia regiment is residing in town for the season,” she explains. 

 

“Ah,” Stiles says. That would explain Mason. 

 

When they get back home, Mason and Liam are all too happy to accost their father and force him into listening to what they heard about the regiment. Stiles feels a little bit of sympathy for their father, but not enough to intervene.

 

“Well, that's nice,” John says where he can and Stiles recognizes it for the attempt at escape that it is.

 

But it's not often than Liam and Mason have John's full attention, so they do not easily let him go. It's upon John's fourth or fifth attempt to break free that a messenger arrives from Netherfield with a note for Allison.

 

“Well?” Stiles asks after Allison reads it over.

 

“It's Miss Martin,” Allison smiles, eyes lighting up. “She's invited me to dine at Netherfield tonight.”

 

“You're going,” Stiles declares. “Let's find you a dress.”

 

“There's your answer,” Allison says to the messenger who nods and bids them good day before leaving.

 

Stiles and Allison hurry up the stairs and find Allison a flattering dress.

 

“I'll have to go on horseback,” Allison says as she pulls out a sturdier frock than the fine one Stiles is holding. “Father can't possibly spare enough horses for the carriage.”

 

“Then you'll need to leave soon if you're going to beat the rain,” Stiles says as he takes a glance out of the window to see dark clouds rolling in. 

 

“That's the plan,” she smiles, turning to get him to help her lace up. “It's a good thing I'm a quick rider.”

 

Once dressed, Stiles helps Allison saddle her favorite mare and sees her off.

 

It's barely ten minutes later that the sky opens up.

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jackson Whittemore as Mr. Collins shows up in this chapter!

The rain doesn't let up until early the next morning. The fields are soaked and the roads are a tragedy. It is almost certain that Allison was forced to stay at Netherfield. Stiles is relieved when a messenger arrives with news at breakfast.

 

“It's Ally,” Stiles says as he reads the message. “She was caught in the rain anyway and has become ill! She says Miss Martin will hear none of her returning home until the doctor clears her.”

 

“I'm glad she's in good hands,” John says. “I suppose you'll be leaving soon?”

 

“What?” Stiles asks around a mouthful of eggs.

 

“I can practically feel how badly you want to go to her,” John says. “Just promise me you won't make yourself sick too.”

 

“I won't,” Stiles grins, passing his plate away and readying himself to walk to Netherfield.

 

“You're walking?” Mason raises a judgemental eyebrow at his attire.

 

“It's only three miles,” Stiles points out.

 

“Of knee-deep mud and muck,” Mason reminds him.

 

“I'll be fit enough to see Allison,” Stiles says. “I care not for how anyone else may perceive me.”

 

With that, Stiles is out the door. He loves walking through the village and neighboring estates. There are so many sights to see and there's nothing quite like the quiet of nature and a breeze on his face. By the time he sights Netherfield, he's a right mess. His sweaty hair has become unruly, he's certain he's unattractively flushed with exertion, and his boots are in dire need of a good scrubbing.

 

He's permitted entry anyway, despite the look the butler gives him, and shown to a large room where most of the pack is assembled. Notably is the absence of Miss Reyes, Mr. Boyd, and Stiles’s sister.

 

“Good heavens, Mr. Stilinski!” Lydia gasps as Mr. Lahey, Mr. McCall, and Mr. Hale rise at his introduction. “Did you walk the whole way here?”

 

“I did,” Stiles confirms. “I'm here to see my sister. How is she?”

 

“Quite ill, but recovering quickly,” Mr. McCall smiles kindly. “I'll show you to her room.”

 

“Thank you,” Stiles nods his head, following Mr. McCall into the hallway again.

 

“Oh my god, did you see his boots?” Stiles hears Lydia gasp as the door shuts slowly. “He looked positively wild!”

 

“Don't mind her,” Mr. McCall says. “Lydia can be abrasive and fashion-minded, but she's fiercely loyal and probably smarter than the whole pack combined.”

 

“I hold nothing against Miss Martin,” Stiles replies. “I'm well aware that I look a mess.”

 

“Perhaps we may remedy that,” Mr. McCall suggests with a glance over his person. “You look like you might fit some of my clothes.”

 

“Oh, I couldn't--”

 

“I insist,” Mr. McCall says earnestly. “I would not feel right allowing Miss Argent’s favorite brother be forced to wear wet clothes when I could have remedied the situation. Please let me help.”

 

“Very well,” Stiles agrees. “Once I've seen that Allison is alright with my own eyes, I shall let you dress me.”

 

“I am pleased!” Mr. McCall’s bright smile returns and shows him into the room they've put Allison in.

 

It's rather opulent and richly furnished. Had Stiles not had plenty of practice not reacting to his younger siblings and their antics, he might have shown his surprise. He's proud that he doesn't give away just how differently they live from Mr. McCall and his packmates.

 

“I'll leave you,” Mr. McCall nods from the door. “It's good to see your smile return,” he says to Allison, eyes soft as he looks upon her recumbent form. “When you're ready, my valet will escort you to my rooms and get you sorted out.”

 

“Thank you, again,” Stiles nods, waiting until they're alone before addressing his sister. “You look half swallowed up by pillows.”

 

“They've all been so kind to me, Stiles,” Allison says softly, as though her throat still bothers her. “What was that business about his valet?”

 

“Your Mr. McCall can't stand to see me in damp clothes,” Stiles says, sitting next to her on the plush mattress. “He feels it is his duty to see me properly clothed.”

 

“He's a good man,” she smiles gently. “I presume you walked?”

 

“Well, we already spared one horse getting you here. I couldn't possibly take another,” he points out.

 

“Is papa too worried? I thought I could beat the storm, but Nellie and I caught the brunt of it, I'm afraid,” Allison gives a cough.

 

“I know he feels better now that I'm here,” Stiles says. “Though I don't know how he's faring without us.”

 

“I imagine Malia has the boys hog tied somewhere,” Allison jokes, earning a laugh from Stiles.

 

“You're probably right,” Stiles agrees.

 

“Don't spend all day in here with me,” Allison nudges him with her foot. “I’m sure Mr. McCall’s valet is waiting for you and the rest of the pack are eager to better acquaint themselves with you.”

 

“Are you kicking me out?”

 

“The doctor says I need lots of rest,” Allison says, snuggling down into the duvet. “Besides, I can entertain myself with all of the ways I can imagine you'll dig a hole for yourself.”

 

“Ha ha,” Stiles fake laughs while making sure Allison is tucked in. “I do have _some_ social graces, you know.”

 

“Oh, you do?” Allison asks with a grin.

 

“Cheeky,” Stiles leans down and kisses her forehead. “You're lucky I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Allison replies before shooing him out of the room.

 

As promised, Mr. McCall’s valet escorts Stiles to the alpha’s room and fits him into a fine pair of breeches, a soft shirt, and a fitted waistcoat. He takes Stiles’s boots away and returns with a pair that have been shined. He's never worn anything so rich.

 

When he returns to the parlor, the same group greets him. Mr. McCall appears pleased that Stiles kept his word and Mr. Lahey looks him over more carefully than before.

 

“My, don't you clean up nicely,” Miss Martin declares.

 

But the most notable reaction is that of Mr. Hale.

 

Stiles knows the alpha finds him tolerable at best and a new set of expensive clothes isn't going to change anything. Yet Stiles can feel his eyes on him like a physical touch. He wonders briefly if it's because he's in Mr. McCall’s clothes. Stiles is aware that alphas have a highly refined sense of smell and can distinguish mated betas and omegas by the scent of their mates on their skin and clothes. But why would Mr. Hale care if Stiles smelled like Mr. McCall?

 

“Are we to expect you for dinner?” Mr. McCall asks, drawing the attention of both Stiles and Mr. Hale. “It would be no imposition on us and we'd be glad of your company.”

 

“I do also believe that your sister may very well want you close,” Miss Martin adds. “Would it not be beneficial then to extend your stay and send for clothes?”

 

At Miss Martin's suggestion, Stiles notices that Mr. Hale relaxes a fraction. Curious. There is something to the scent after all.

 

“I would not want to overstay my welcome,” Stiles says.

 

“Nonsense. We insist,” Mr. McCall states.

 

“If you're all agreed, then I have no objection,” Stiles says. “I would rest easier knowing my sister was nearby.”

 

“Then it's settled,” Miss Martin smiles and instructs a footman to fetch enough of Stiles belongings to see him through the week before everyone sits. “You and your sister are twins, correct?”

 

“Yes, she's the elder by twelve minutes,” Stiles answers.

 

“How charming!” Miss Martin exclaims. “We met alpha twins when we were last in London. Very handsome.”

 

There's a low rumble that sounds like a growl from where Mr. Hale has taken up writing at a desk.

 

“But only acquaintances. You know how these things work,” Miss Martin continues as though the growl never happened.

 

“I do hope Miss Argent makes a quick recovery,” Mr. McCall says.

 

Stiles is glad of Mr. McCall’s concern. He's anxious and invested in Allison's health. It can only mean good things in relation to their budding romance.

 

“Do you think I should go check on her?” Mr. McCall asks.

 

“She is meant to be resting, and she can't properly rest if you're constantly bothering her,” Miss Martin says. “Besides, she has a servant to attend to her every need.”

 

“I think she would like the company,” Stiles speaks up, earning a sharp look from Miss Martin. “But maybe after a bit. She was looking forward to a nap when I left her.”

 

“Very well,” Mr. McCall nods. “I shall go to her with dinner.”

 

“Is there anything you take pleasure in besides attending to your sister?” Miss Martin asks.

 

“I like to read,” Stiles shrugs.

 

“We only have a small collection of books here,” Mr. McCall frowns. “Lydia has been pestering us to build a better collection, but we have yet to satisfy her.”

 

“I am plenty satisfied by the library at Pemberley,” Miss Martin states with a glance toward Mr. Hale. “It is one of the most complete libraries in the country, is it not, Mr. Hale?”

 

“Several generations of my family have endeavored to build an expansive collection,” Mr. Hale responds as if reciting a line. “It ought to be sufficient enough.”

 

“Ah, yes, but you yourself must account for a large percentage,” Miss Martin says. “Especially with your shopping habits.”

 

“I see nothing wrong with my shopping habits,” Mr. Hale defends.

 

“Of course you don't,” Miss Martin sighs. “How is Miss Hale? I haven't seen her since Scott dragged us all over the countryside in search of his dream house.”

 

“She's of age now and ready to come out,” Mr. Hale states.

 

Stiles wonders if Mr. Hale’s younger sister is anything like the alpha in front of him.

 

“I so long to see her again,” Miss Martin says. “She's such a delight and so accomplished for her age.”

 

“It amazes me how accomplished betas and omegas are,” Mr. McCall says. “You're all so talented. You paint, play, read, sing. I hardly know anyone who cannot do at least half of that.”

 

“I fear that word is applied too liberally and by too many to hold any weight,” Derek grumbles. “In my estimation, I cannot know more than half a dozen betas and omegas who are truly accomplished.”

 

“Then what, pray tell, suits your idea of an accomplished beta or omega?” Stiles asks, drawing that piercing gaze of Mr. Hale’s on himself. Stiles is proud to say he meets him head on.

 

“One must be educated in music, art, dancing, and the modern languages,” Mr. Hale states. “But must also be in possession of exemplary manners and improve their mind by reading.”

 

“Well, then,” Stiles smirks. “Only knowing half a dozen such betas and omegas makes much more sense. I rather marvel at your knowing any.”

 

“Are you so severe upon your own peers?” Mr. Hale questions him directly.

 

Stiles doesn't back down even a little. Sparring with Mr. Hale is exhilarating.

 

“On the contrary,” Stiles says. “But I suspect you describe an imaginary person, one that us mere mortals could never hope to become, much less witness.”

 

Miss Martin gasps at his impertinence while Mr. McCall and Mr. Lahey snicker.

 

“Do you read poetry, Mr. Stilinski?” Miss Martin changes the subject.

 

“Not often,” Stiles admits. “I much prefer history and novels. There was an alpha that wrote Allison some rather… interesting verses once when she was younger. I'm sure his intentions were good, but it cured her of her interest in him quite efficiently.”

 

“Is poetry not the food of love?” Mr. Hale asks.

 

“Of a stout love, yes,” Stiles answers. “But it has been my experience that if it is only a slight inclination, one sonnet can kill it dead.”

 

To Stiles’s surprise, Mr. Hale smiles at that and Stiles is beyond comprehending why. Was Mr. Hale amused? Did he think Stiles stupid? Did he agree? Whatever his inclination, his smile completely transforms his face from dark and stormy to the first ray of sunshine after the rain. It's breathtaking and Stiles is not immune.

 

“Have you finished your letter yet, Mr. Hale?” Miss Martin asks and Mr. Hale scowls at her. Stiles gets the impression that she enjoys riling him up. “I thought you wrote fast.”

 

“You are mistaken,” Mr. Hale responds. “I have an inclination for neatness that requires a slower hand.”

 

“If we could all write so neatly,” Mr. McCall says wistfully. Stiles gets the impression that Mr. McCall’s penmanship must be as deplorable as his own.

 

“Mr. Stilinski, let's take a turn about the room,” Miss Martin suggests, pulling him to his feet and looping her arm around his. “I find it refreshing to get up and walk after sitting for so long.”

 

“I do like to walk,” Stiles jokes and Mr. McCall laughs as Mr. Hale looks up to watch them stroll around the room before turning back to his letter.

 

“Would you like to join us, Mr. Hale?” Miss Martin asks after one lap.

 

“I should think not,” Mr. Hale declines.

 

“You're no fun,” Miss Martin teases him. “Why not?”

 

“There can only be two motives for you and Mr. Stilinski to walk about the room,” Mr. Hale observes. “You either have secrets to discuss in each other's confidence or you are aware that your figures are more appealing when walking. If your reason is the first, then I would be imposing on your conversation, and if it is the second, I can best admire you from where I sit.”

 

“How shocking!” Miss Martin mock gasps. “I knew he'd be severe on us, Mr. Stilinski. How shall we punish him for such an unforgiving speech?”

 

“I would say we should laugh at him, but I suspect Mr. Hale would find us in abominably poor manners,” Stiles says. “And I certainly hope I am better than ridiculing those in my acquaintance who are undeserving of such treatment.”

 

“An admirable quality, yet so few can avoid the temptation of ridiculing those they find lacking,” Mr. Hale says. “I therefore strive to avoid those weaknesses most likely to invite ridicule.”

 

“Such as vanity and pride,” Stiles adds, feeling Miss Martin tense for a second as Mr. Hale meets him head on again with that inscrutable gaze.

 

“Indeed, vanity is a weakness,” Mr. Hale admits. “But pride, where there is true superiority, will always be under good regulation.”

 

Stiles has to fight back a smile. Verbally sparring with Mr. Hale is proving a worthy adventure.

 

“And what is your verdict of Mr. Hale?” Miss Martin inquires.

 

“I am perfectly convinced now that Mr. Hale has no defects of personality, for he owns every one of them with conviction,” Stiles announces.

 

“I have made no such pretension,” Mr. Hale grunts with a narrowed gaze. “My temper I dare not vouch for as I too often find myself unable to forget the follies and vices of others and their offenses against myself. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”

 

“That is indeed a failing,” Stiles agrees with much gravity. “Although implacable resentment is a dark mark on anyone's character, you have chosen your fault well and are safe from me, for I cannot possibly laugh at it.”

 

“Everyone has within their disposition an inclination to some sort of natural defect that not even the best education can overcome,” Mr. Hale defends.

 

“And yours is to hate everybody,” Stiles states.

 

“And yours is to willfully misunderstand them,” Mr. Hale delivers with a self-satisfied smile that Stiles seems unable to argue with.

 

Damned if he's not a little right.

  
~*~

 

The day Allison is well enough to return home is the day that the rest of the Stilinski house journeys to Netherfield.

 

Once they've seen Allison and are gathered in the sitting room, they're joined by Mr. McCall and Miss Martin. Mr. McCall is all smiles and manners while Miss Martin looks each member of Stiles’s family over like livestock at the market. It's unsettling and borderline rude.

 

“How did you find Miss Argent?” Mr. McCall inquires.

 

“Very well,” John replies. “I am very pleased to see her taken care of so well.”

 

“It was my pleasure,” Mr. McCall beams proudly.

 

“Mr. McCall and his packmates have been incredibly attentive to Ally, Papa,” Stiles says.

 

“You're sure she's fit to travel?” John asks.

 

“I spoke with the doctor myself just this morning,” Mr. McCall says. “He assures us that she's entirely healthy enough for travel, but he advises light activity until she gets her strength back up.”

 

“You must host a ball here, Mr. McCall,” Mason explodes with excitement while Stiles does his best not to die of embarrassment on the spot. “I do remember you promising a ball at our last assembly.”

 

Mr. McCall looks caught entirely off guard and as John grimaces, Stiles racks his brain for a recovery.

 

Miss Martin recovers first.

 

“I'm afraid you did promise the town a ball, Scott,” she says with a bored tone that is only contradicted by the sharpness of her eyes.

 

“You're right!” Mr. McCall grins. “As soon as Miss Argent is sufficiently recovered, you may name the day.”

 

Mr. McCall arranges for Allison's and Stiles’s belongings to be secured in their family carriage and they are escorted to the drive in front of Netherfield by Mr. McCall and Mr. Hale. John shoos Liam and Mason inside the carriage while Mr. McCall tries to assist Malia. He's hissed at for his trouble and Stiles catches Mr. Hale hiding a laugh at his friend's expense. Malia can be an embarrassment, but she's also a good source of amusement as she refuses to be tamed.

 

Mr. McCall takes his time saying goodbye to Allison and is extra careful in getting her settled into the carriage. Stiles thinks they're far too adorable and would be surprised if Mr. McCall lasts much longer in not offering her his hand.

 

He's lost in thought and is taken by surprise when Mr. Hale offers his hand and assists him into the carriage. When he turns and meets Mr. Hale’s eyes, he finds a look equally as stunned, as if Mr. Hale did not stop to consider what he was doing.

 

The touch is electric. Their bare palms touching sends Stiles’s heart beating into a frenzy, pounding loud enough to fill his ears. Mr. Hale, mouth slightly open and so beautiful, frowns and looks away the moment Stiles lets go and settles.

 

The doors are shut and they pull away to head back home, but Stiles looks back.

 

Mr. McCall is waving at the carriage, smiling and watching them leave. But Mr. Hale is stiff as he flexes and clenches the hand that had touched Stiles’s before turning abruptly and marching back into the manor.

  
~*~  
  


“Stiles,” John begins as he finds Stiles hiding out in the study with a book. “Can you make sure the kitchen has enough to see another person fed for the foreseeable future?”

 

“Of course,” Stiles agrees, making his page and closing his book before setting it on the table nearest him. “Who are we expecting?”

 

“A distant relation,” John says with obvious discomfort.

 

“One we know?”

 

“No,” John shakes his head. “About a month so, I received a letter from a distant cousin regarding my estate.”

 

“Ah,” Stiles says. “The one who's meant to turn us all out of our home upon your death.”

 

“Yes, that one,” John grumbles sourly.

 

“Well, we knew the entail would come to darken our door sooner or later,” Stiles says.

 

“I was hoping for later,” John says. “He wants to come and meet us. Seems he's friends with Lord Peter and he's gifted him with a house and land in exchange for something or another. He seemed rather pompous, to be honest. I tried not to pay too much attention to his letter.”

 

“What's his name?”

 

“Jackson Whittemore,” John answers.

 

“Well, that _does_ sound pompous,” Stiles agrees. “When does he arrive?”

 

“This afternoon, I'm afraid,” John says. “Promise me you'll be nice.”

 

“Promise me he'll be sensible,” Stiles shoots back.

 

“I can make no such promise,” John says. “I found him too self-important for any kind of sensibility.”

 

Mr. Whittemore arrives when expected and is received with all of the politeness the Stilinski family can muster. Mason is eager to acquaint himself, Liam trails behind Mason loyally, and Malia wrinkles her nose at the alpha like she finds his scent offensive.

 

“At least he's easy on the eyes,” Allison points out once they disappear into the house.

 

“Indeed,” Stiles agrees.

 

Mr. Whittemore is fair haired, light eyed, and powerfully built. He holds himself with the confidence of one that knows he's handsome and it grates on Stiles already.

 

They're called to dinner as soon as Mr. Whittemore is settled. Stiles and Allison sit to their father's right, Mr. Whittemore is sat on his left, and the rest sit where they like. Stiles is in the most advantageous position to assess Mr. Whittemore fully and finds that though he is handsome, he doesn't like him. Not one bit.

 

“Your children are all very pleasant, Mr. Stilinski,” Mr. Whittemore complements.

 

Stiles has to bite his tongue to keep from pointing out the lie.

 

“I'm glad you think so,” John says, thankfully and obviously not buying into it one bit.

 

“The food is delicious as well,” Mr. Whittemore says. “To which cousin do I owe thanks?”

 

Stiles drops his fork, but his father beats him to it.

 

“I assure you we’re quite capable of keeping a cook,” John smiles amiably while Stiles thinks about flinging potatoes at Mr. Whittemore’s head. Or stabbing him. “I'll send your thanks to Kitty.”

 

“What a pleasant surprise!” Mr. Whittemore says with a sparkly smile.

 

“You wrote that you were acquainted with Lord Peter,” John changes the subject. “That is quite a distinguished friendship.”

 

It does the trick and has Mr. Whittemore waxing poetic about his own self-worth and accomplishments, especially that Lord Peter enjoyed his company and he'd already been invited to dine with him at his estate twice since moving onto the property.

 

“He has also advised me to marry as soon as possible,” Mr. Whittemore adds. “He wishes nothing more than to see everyone he knows mated and settled.”

 

“Very proper and civil of him,” John nods.

 

“I daresay his only having the one beta daughter has made him feel it is his duty to help others become happily mated,” Mr. Whittemore adds.

 

“Would that we all had friends like that!” Mason sighs with hearts in his eyes.

 

It’s enough to make Stiles’s stomach turn.

 

Mr. Whittemore’s stay continues in much the same manner. He speaks of his connections and more than sufficient income, and Liam and Mason listen with rapt attention. Stiles notices on several occasions Mr. Whittemore’s eye wandering over his twin’s form. His father doesn’t seem aware, or makes no appearances of knowing how this odious jackass is measuring Allison up.

 

“Ally, have you heard anything from Netherfield?” Stiles asks after catching Mr. Whittemore considering her again.

 

“I have exchanged a few notes with Miss Martin,” she admits. “She tells us to expect the invitations to the ball to be coming soon.”

 

“And what of Mr. McCall? I suspect he’ll want to keep you to himself for the night,” Stiles heavily hints. There’s no use in being subtle with someone so self-absorbed in the house.

 

“ _Stiles_ ,” Allison blushes and looks away, but Stiles can see the smile.

 

“Mr. McCall?” Mr. Whittemore asks.

 

“An alpha acquaintance of ours,” Stiles says. “He seems to be quite taken with her.”

 

“I see,” Mr. Whittemore says.

 

Stiles realizes he’s thrown himself upon his own sword for Allison when he feels those calculating eyes on _him_. It makes him shudder. He knows for sure in that moment that Mr. Whittemore means to marry one of them and can think of nothing less appealing.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theo as Mr. Wickham shows up in this chapter. I feel I should clarify here that though werewolves are known and A/B/O applies, there won't be any full-on shifting, but there is some eye-flashing and teeth-baring. I've bent the show's cannon on eye colors to reflect status, so red for alphas, blue for betas, and gold for omegas. Just because I can. :) No complicated murderer/not murderer thing here.

They all go into town the following day, Mr. Whittemore accompanying them despite protestations. Fortunately for Stiles and Allison, he’s waylaid by Mason and Liam and they’re left to themselves while Malia kicks rocks even further behind.

 

“He’s a bit much,” Allison admits very quietly as she loops her arm around Stiles’s.

 

“A bit?” Stiles raises his eyebrow. “Ally, he’s completely ridiculous.”

 

“Maybe a bit full of himself but--”

 

“Completely. Ridiculous,” Stiles cuts her off.

 

She sighs heavily and glances at Mr. Whittemore’s stiff back as he grudgingly escorts Mason and Liam by the arms.

 

“I suppose he could be worse,” Allison admits thoughtfully.

 

“How?” Stiles asks incredulously.

 

“He could be hideous,” she says.

 

“Or stupid,” he adds thoughtfully.

 

“Thanks for saving me,” she says, offering him a smile.

 

“Yes, well, I wanted him to stop looking at you like you were a piece of meat,” Stiles says. “Now I’m the one afforded that particular pleasure.”

 

“Oh, Stiles!” Allison laughs. “It cannot be all bad. At least you’re being noticed.”

 

“After it was made known that you were unavailable,” Stiles points out.

 

“So maybe he’s not the right one for you,” she shrugs. 

 

“Be still my heart,” he mocks, earning another laugh as they arrive on the town square to find regiment officers milling about.

 

One in particular stands out, garnering the attentions of many omegas and betas in the crowd. Mason, naturally, investigates and informs them that his name is Mr. Raeken, who had recently accepted commission in the corps. He’s handsome, Stiles will admit, with chocolate brown hair, grey eyes, and delicate features. Stiles can hardly believe he’s a man bent on the life of a soldier. He looks like he would be right at home in a large estate, being dressed by a valet and served his dinner by footmen. 

 

Mr. Raeken is chivalrous, taking time to greet each and every member of the Stilinski party, before offering to escort them to a delightful pond nearby. Mason and Liam are very pleased at his agreeable nature and beg Stiles and Allison to go. Despite Malia’s sour look, they all decide that continuing their walk and taking in nature will be best and allow Mr. Raeken the honor of becoming their escort. 

 

They’re laughing and having a grand time when Malia spots Mr. McCall and Mr. Hale riding nearby. Stiles notices the moment Mr. McCall recognizes Allison and turns their horses in the direction of their little group. 

 

“I was on my way to Longbourn to see how you were,” Mr. McCall declares with a grin when they halt their horses, Mr. Hale bowing his head slightly and turning his eyes on the group assembled before him, gaze stopping when he reaches Stiles.

 

Stiles meets him, not willing to be cowed by anyone, not even a well-bred, ridiculously rich alpha. A moment before the stare becomes noticeable, Mr. Hale’s eyes snap to the stranger in their group, narrowing and burning red as his fangs descend. Stiles looks to Mr. Raeken to see the blue eyes of a beta flashing back at Mr. Hale as his face drains of color. 

 

“Fancy meeting you here, Hale,” Mr. Raeken says.

 

Mr. Hale snarls at him before turning his horse and riding it into a quick pace back in the direction of Netherfield. 

 

“I must go,” Mr. McCall says, his face warped into confusion. “Look for my invitation. We shall have a ball before the week is out!”

 

Liam and Mason cheer the news, but Stiles cannot shake the odd exchange between Mr. Hale and Mr. Raeken. They walk back into town, Mr. Raeken escorting them as far as Mason’s favorite shop where he bids them good day and thanks them for their company. Mason is easily diverted by the wares in the store, as is Liam, but Stiles and Allison hang back. 

 

“What do you suppose that was about?” Stiles asks Allison when he’s sure they’re alone.

 

“I don’t know, but I don’t like him,” Malia says in his ear, surprising him with her stealthiness. He shouldn’t be surprised, but she’s truly like a cat. 

 

“You don’t like anyone,” Stiles points out. 

 

“I especially don’t like Raeken,” she clarifies. “There’s something off about him.”

 

“She’s not wrong, Stiles,” Allison agrees. “Sure, he’s amiable enough, but you’ve gotten to know Mr. Hale. Why would someone we’ve only just met bring out such a strong reaction?”

 

“I am unsure,” Stiles admits. Mr. Hale had never given Stiles any inclination to believe him malicious without cause, but what could have driven Mr. Hale to break decorum like that? 

 

Fortunately, the rest of the day passes without incident and the group finds themselves tired but happy after a long day adventuring in town. Even Mr. Whittemore is exhausted enough to turn in a quiet evening. 

  
~*~  
  


Stiles next sees Mr. Raeken at their aunt’s house in Beacon Hills proper. Their aunt is hosting a party for some of the regimental officers and a few of the more prominent families in Beacon County, so the Stilinksis and Mr. Whittemore find themselves enjoying a night of games and society not but two nights after first meeting Mr. Raeken. 

 

Mr. Whittemore is thankfully capitalized by the older ladies who admire him greatly and wrangle him into a card game. He’s gracious enough, but Stiles heavily suspects it’s because he likes getting attention. Stiles himself is sat at a table with Mason, of all of his siblings, who has a fondness for talking incessantly and currently has the ear of Mr. Raeken. 

 

Stiles boredly watches the room, exchanging a knowing look with Allison. His patience pays off when Mason is distracted by Liam and they run off to play a game in the far corner of the room. Stiles has been waiting for the opportunity to question Mr. Raeken about his acquaintance with Mr. Hale since he first saw him.

 

“How far is Netherfield from Beacon Hills?” Mr. Raeken asks, broaching the subject Stiles had been yearning to discuss.

 

“About a twenty minute walk, I suppose,” Stiles answers. “Perhaps a little more if one is not a strong walker or prefers a slower pace.”

 

“And how long has Mr. Hale been staying there?” Mr. Raeken asks.

 

“About a month,” Stiles says. “I understand he is a man of very large property in the Preserve.”

 

“He is,” Mr. Raeken confirms. “Pemberley is a very noble estate. I know this personally as my family has been connected with his since infancy.”

 

“Really?” Stiles raises an eyebrow, attention well and fully given to Mr. Raeken now.

 

“I understand the surprise,” Mr. Raeken huffs out a bit of a laugh that Stiles suspects is not for amusement. “Especially after the very hostile manner of our meeting the other day. Do you know Mr. Hale very well?”

 

“As well as I’d like,” Stiles admits. “I stayed for a time at Netherfield while my sister took ill, and I found him to be rather disagreeable in many ways.”

 

“I’ve known him far too long to give an accurate judgement on his character, I’m afraid,” Mr. Raeken gives a soft smile. “But your opinion of him would astonish those not familiar with you.”

 

“I can reasonably say that he is well disliked in Beacon County,” Stiles states. “He’s only himself to blame in that regard.”

 

“I daresay many are blinded by his fortune and consequence and therefore see him as he wishes to be seen,” Mr. Raeken says. 

 

“Well, I certainly hope his residence here does not affect your plans any,” Stiles says warmly. “I know many a beta and omega that would mourn your leaving.”

 

“I won't be driven away by Mr. Hale,” My Raeken laughs, showing a very handsome smile. “If he wishes to avoid me, then he must be the one to go.”

 

“And what, might I be so bold as to ask, is the reason for this bad blood between you two?” Stiles inquires.

 

“I’ll tell you, but only because I like that you aren’t holding back with me,” Mr. Raeken says. “Mr. Hale’s mother was the best alpha that ever was. After my father died, she took me in and raised me and loved me as if I were her own. I shall never forget the pain I felt and still feel at her loss. A military life was never what was intended for me, you must understand. Mrs. Hale desired I join the church and earn a valuable living. 

 

“She meant to provide for me amply. I would never want for anything,” Mr. Raeken continues. “But the terms were so informal that upon her death, Mr. Hale decided to treat it as conditional and claimed extravagance and imprudence on my part, stripping it from me.”

 

“Have you no recourse?” Stiles gasps at such an outrageous accusation against Mr. Hale.

 

“None,” Mr. Raeken shakes his head. “But I am better for it, I am sure. We are very different men, Mr. Hale and I, and I fear he hates me.”

 

“Whatever for?”

 

“I asked myself the same question many a night,” Mr. Raeken says. “The only comfort I could give myself was to attribute it to some kind of jealousy. Perhaps if his mother had favored me less, he might have borne it better. He was her only son, you see. I’m afraid her affection for me made him feel as though he had to compete.”

 

“I had not thought Mr. Hale capable of such behavior,” Stiles says. “Granted, I do not find him likeable, but I could never imagine him malicious.”

 

“It saddens me to think of how similar we were, how we grew up together and were once so close,” Mr. Raeken shakes his head. “And then one day he was too good for me.”

 

“I marvel at the pride of him,” Stiles grumbles. 

 

“Almost all of his actions can be traced back to his pride,” Mr. Raeken agrees. “It has been his most consistent friend these past years. But don’t hold it against him too harshly, for it hasn’t been all bad.”

 

“Oh?” Stiles asks. “How has it ever been a force for good?”

 

“He’s often generous with his wealth,” Mr. Raeken begins. “He’s hospitable, assists his tenants, relieves the poor. His pride stems from his family and the need to retain the prestige of House Hale and Pemberley. He is powerfully motivated to protect his legacy. And he is a devoted guardian of his younger sister, who could never think anything but the best of him.”

 

“How do you find Miss Hale?” Stiles inquires, recalling the interest Miss Martin had in Mr. Hale’s sister during his stay at Netherfield. 

 

“It gives me pain to call her anything but amiable,” Mr. Raeken says. “But she is too much like her brother. She very beautiful, but very proud.”

 

“Well, I am truly astonished, especially when I think of his closeness with Mr. McCall, who for all appearances is the embodiment of amiability himself!” Stiles wonders aloud. “Are you familiar with Mr. McCall?”

 

“Not at all,” Mr. Raeken admits. “Perhaps he doesn’t know what Mr. Hale is. After all, he’s perfectly agreeable to those he considers his equals.”

 

The party breaks up soon after and Stiles finds himself crowding into their carriage with Mr. Whittemore wedged in between himself and Allison while Mason and Liam doze against each other and Malia glares daggers at Mr. Whittemore. 

  
~*~  
  


When Stiles tells Allison of his exchange with Mr. Raeken the next morning, she’s disbelieving, insisting that there must be some explanation that Mr. Raeken did not give or some truth that is yet unknown. Stiles laughs at her gently for her good nature and she allows it on the grounds that he agrees to take Mr. Raeken’s terrible story with a grain of salt, for it is impossible for Mr. Hale to have so thoroughly deceived  _ all _ of his friends in regards to his true nature. 

 

“Well, let Mr. Hale contradict Mr. Raeken’s tale,” Stiles declares, ending the conversation. 

 

They are summoned a moment later by Miss Martin and Mr. McCall arriving in person to deliver their invitation for the long-awaited ball at Netherfield. Miss Martin asks after Allison with a much kinder countenance than she ever showed Stiles, and Mr. McCall greets Stiles with a smile and a bow of his head before exchanging blushing grins with Allison. 

 

After they leave, the house is in a state of excitement with Liam and Mason discussing prospective guests, dances, and attire. Malia, as Stiles expects, looks unenthusiastic about their upcoming event. Stiles has all but forgotten about Mr. Whittemore staying with them until he nearly runs headlong into him on his way back into the house. 

 

“Oh! Excuse me,” Stiles says quickly. “I did not notice you there.”

 

“We’ve just received personal invitation to a ball at Netherfield!” Mason announces to Mr.  Whittemore. “You’ll come too, won’t you?”

 

“I hold no objection to balls, especially given by alphas of good character,” Mr. Whittemore says. “I hope to be honored with a dance with all of my fair cousins in the course of the evening. I should like to take this opportunity to request your hand, Mr. Stilinski, for the first two dances.”

 

Stiles stands there in stunned silence. He wants to reject Mr. Whittemore’s request, but he dares not. It would not do and his father would be displeased with him if he offended the man who is to control their means of survival should the worst happen to his father unexpectedly. And besides, he’d planned to spend the night plying Mr. Raeken for more information regarding Mr. Hale. 

 

“Of course,” Stiles bows his head in acceptance. He’ll just have to grit his teeth and get through it. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Netherfield Ball is here!
> 
> Also, I went back and forth forever over whether or not I wanted Scott to actually be Mr. Bingley. I have pretty unhappy feelings about Scott in the show, so I kind of wanted to crap all over him. Which I have in another fix-it-fic that may never see the light of day and only serve as my own personal catharsis. But when I tried to put Isaac in that role and put Scott in the role of Mr. Wickham or Mr. Collins, my brain just wouldn't let me. It reminded me of cinnamon roll Scott and Allison from earlier seasons and I gave in. I also vacillated a bit on who would work as Mr. Collins or Mr. Wickham. As I got to writing Mr. Collins, it became obvious to me that Jackson could work that angle. Rather than being an oblivious little toad, he could be his normal, jackassed self without too much of a change. Mr. Wickham still presented a problem in that I needed a villain, but one who could be redeemed, sort of. I figured Mr. Wickham had the most in common with Theo, who I am loath to give any kind of redemption to, but since he's a double-crossing, manipulative SOB, I went with him. 
> 
> And I loved writing semi-feral Malia and sassy Danny.

The ball is upon them before the know it. They ready themselves and arrive in their carriage at the specified time to find a lovely atmosphere, grand decorations, and their neighbors and friends dressed in their finest. Liam and Mason are off on their own as quickly as they can. Mason is in a hurry to mingle with the regimental officers while Liam goes in search of a pretty girl from the neighboring estate, Miss Hayden Romero, if Stiles remembers correctly. She doesn’t seem nearly as keen on him as he is on her. He hopes that changes. Liam is a sweet boy that makes good choices when he’s away from his brother. Stiles only hopes that Miss Romero will come to see that too.

 

Malia loses herself in the crowd. Stiles knows for a fact that she’s going to stuff her dress with as much bread and cheese as she can, grab a bottle of something alcoholic, and hole herself up where no one will find her. She’ll turn up when it’s time to leave, though. And hopefully no one will be mad enough to attempt to get her to dance. 

 

Stiles and Allison stick close as John breaks away to converse with Mr. Yukimura again. Stiles is aware in a way he wishes he wasn’t that Mr. Whittemore is following them around. He’s certain without needing to check that Mr. Whittemore is silently judging each and every person in the room. Stiles instead focuses on trying to find Mr. Raeken while Allison looks for Mr. McCall. It takes little investigation to find out from some of the other regimental officers that Mr. Raeken is not at the ball, having needed to go to town on business the day before. Stiles heavily suspects this business had called him away for the specific purpose of avoiding a certain gentleman sure to be in attendance. 

 

Allison is soon whisked away by Miss Martin, presumably to Mr. McCall’s side, and Stiles manages to shake Mr. Whittemore in time to meet up with Kira and Danny. Stiles gushes to them about everything that’s been plaguing him recently while they both nod and gasp at appropriate moments. He tells them of the strange interaction between Mr. Hale and Mr. Raeken and especially about the high and mighty Mr. Whittemore, pointing him out to both of them as he stalks through the crowded room.

 

“He does look a bit full of himself,” Kira agrees. “And angry.”

 

“I think he’s quite handsome,” Danny muses and shrugs when they both cut him a look. “Angry works for some alphas. It’s clearly working in his favor.”

 

“Then by all means, you have him,” Stiles snorts, the band leader tapping his baton to signal the start of the dances. 

 

“I’m afraid that pleasure is yours,” Danny smirks and Stiles freezes as a throat clears behind him.

 

Stiles shares a look with Kira before turning to find Mr. Whittemore standing in front of him. 

 

“I believe I was promised the first two dances,” Mr. Whittemore reminds him.

 

“You were,” Stiles agrees, allowing him to lead him to the dance floor. 

 

Mr. Whittemore is not a terrible dancer. He’s actually quite the opposite, or would be if he weren’t so tense and overly focused. Stiles attempts to help him relax and is met with resistance and gives up. If he wants to be stiff and weird about it, then it’s on him. The moment the dances are over, Stiles leaves before he can be roped into any more dances with Mr. Whittemore and dances next with an officer who is only too happy to report that Mr. Raeken is well-liked in the regiment. 

 

He decides to take a break from dancing and returns to Kira. Danny’s wandered off, as he’s wont to do, and they instead speak of the number of officers in attendance and how well Allison seems to be getting along with Mr. McCall. Stiles is more sure now than ever that a proposal is imminent. Mr. McCall has hardly left Allison’s side and has claimed almost all of her dances so far. 

 

He’s so wrapped up in watching Allison that he's taken by surprise a moment later when Mr. Hale, dark and broody, approaches them. 

 

“Mr. Stilinski, may I have the next dance?” he inquires sharply.

 

Stiles is so stunned by his request that he stutters out a “yes” before his brain can catch up with him. 

 

He leaves as abruptly as he came and Kira is left to mitigate the damage.

 

“Did I just agree to dance with Mr. Hale?” Stiles asks in disbelief.

 

“Perhaps you’ll find him an agreeable partner,” she suggests.

 

“That would be unfortunate, as I am determined to dislike him,” Stiles says as the current dance ends. 

 

“Here he comes, Stiles,” Kira warns, and then advises through her teeth, “Try to be civil.”

 

As Stiles takes Mr. Hale’s hand and is lead to the dance floor, he makes no promises.

 

He’s aware of eyes on him as he and Mr. Hale stand partnered across from each other. Mr. Hale, for his part, does not appear to notice the interest of the others. For all Stiles knows, Mr. Hale is used to such attention. Stiles, on the other hand, shares the amazement of the crowd, but is determined to not let it show. They begin the first dance in silence, neither willing to be the first to break it, but before the second dance begins, Stiles decides that it would be a greater pain to make Mr. Hale talk and makes some slight observation about the dance. 

 

He gives Mr. Hale but a moment before addressing him a second time. 

 

“It is now your turn to say something, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says. “I spoke of the dance. Perhaps you should remark on the size of the room or the number of couples.”

 

“I am happy to oblige,” Mr. Hale says. “What would you like to hear?”

 

“If that is what you consider conversation,” Stiles mutters.

 

“Do you always talk when you are dancing?” Mr. Hale asks.

 

“Sometimes,” Stiles replies. “I find it odd to be completely silent for such a long time together. But I find while some have a talent for conversing easily, others do not.”

 

“Is this conversation a consultation of your own feelings, or do you imagine you are gratifying mine?” Mr. Hale asks.

 

“Both,” Stiles answers. “For I have seen great similarity in both of our minds. We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak unless pestered into conversation, or unless we expect to dazzle the whole room.”

 

“While I doubt very much that bears any resemblance to your own character, I cannot pretend to know how near it is to mine,” Mr. Hale says. “Though you may think it a faithful portrait, undoubtedly.”

 

Stiles holds his tongue for once, Mr. Hale having called him out thoroughly. 

 

“Do you and your family often walk to Beacon Hills?” Mr. Hale, to Stiles’s surprise, changes the subject himself. 

 

“Often enough,” Stiles answers. “We had just formed a new acquaintance when you met us there the other day.”

 

Mr. Hale’s expression darkens immediately, and Stiles half expects a flash of red in those green eyes, but he seems to hold himself together, gritting his teeth silently. Stiles understands the error of his mentioning Mr. Raeken and wishes he could take it back, but Mr. Hale surprises him again.

 

“Mr. Raeken is blessed with such happy manners and makes many friends,” Mr. Hale sneers. “Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them is less certain.”

 

“He has been unlucky enough to lose your friendship, it would seem,” Stiles points out. “And if he is to be believed, he is likely to suffer from that loss for the rest of his life. I remember you saying that you hardly ever forgave and that your good opinion, once lost, was forever gone. I wonder then, are you equally cautious when creating your own resentment?”

 

“I am,” Mr. Hale replies.

 

“And you never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?” Stiles asks.

 

“I hope I do not,” Mr. Hale answers. 

 

“I suspect it is highly necessary then, for those who never change their opinion to be quite certain in judging properly at first,” Stiles says. 

 

“May I ask what purpose these questions have?”

 

“I am merely attempting to make out your character,” Stiles answers.

 

“And what have you discovered?” Mr. Hale asks.

 

“Very little. I have heard such differing accounts that I am left exceedingly puzzled,” Stiles admits. 

 

“I hope to afford you more clarity in the future,” Mr. Hale says as their second dance comes to an end.

 

They bow to each other and part ways, Stiles staring at his broad back, trying still to figure him out. 

 

He moves away from the dance floor in search of Kira again as they’re both taking a break from the dancing. She’s flushed prettily and smiling, clearly enjoying herself. He procures refreshment for them both and joins her on a bench to the side of the room. 

 

“Was it as bad as you thought?” Kira asks and then takes a drink.

 

“Not at all,” Stiles admits before Mr. Whittemore is upon them again, Danny squeezing in a second later.

 

“I have discovered that there is a relation to my patron Lord here at this ball,” Mr. Whittemore brags.

 

“And what is this relation?” Kira asks as Danny takes her glass of wine and drinks.

 

“His nephew,” Mr. Whittemore says. “And  _ your _ most recent dance partner,” is said specifically to him. It feels like an accusation. “I feel obligated to introduce myself at once.”

 

“I’m sure he’ll love that,” Stiles says, hoping Mr. Hale eats him alive. 

 

They all watch him leave, Stiles in anticipation, and Danny with his eyes on Mr. Whittemore’s backside. Unfortunately, Stiles only gets to see Mr. Whittemore approach Mr. Hale before the dancers block his view. Instead, he searches out his family.

 

His father is still deep in conversation with Mr. Yukimura, and Allison is firmly entrenched with Mr. McCall and the pack. Stiles notices Liam grinning from ear to ear as he dances with Miss Romero, and Mason’s laugh catches his attention, drawing his eyes to a card table where Mason seems to be entertaining several officers. That looks like trouble.

 

“My brother seems eager to expose himself, much to my mortification,” Stiles comments, still searching for Malia.

 

“I’m sure it’s not as noticeable to others,” Kira says and Danny snorts. 

 

She elbows him for his disagreement.

 

“He’s young,” Kira tries again. “People understand.”

 

“Why? Are you aiming to impress anyone?” Danny asks.

 

“No, but I do not seek ridicule either,” Stiles grumbles. “And I still have one sister unaccounted for. I dare not imagine what she’s up to.”

 

He’s entreated to dance with Mr. Whittemore throughout the night, despite Stiles’s multiple attempts at persuading him to stand up with other partners. He can’t break free of him soon enough, but Mr. Whittemore is finally forced to let him go as the night draws to an end and Allison and Stiles begin the process of herding their younger siblings into a group to make ready to leave for home. Allison takes it upon herself to reclaim Liam from where he’s following Miss Romero around like a lost puppy, it becomes Mr. Stilinski’s duty to drag Mason from his group of admiring soldiers, and Stiles is tasked with locating Malia. When he does find her, she’s stuffed full of bread and has rendered a very unflattering portrait of Mr. Raeken on the wall behind a heavy curtain with some kind of sauce. Stiles wipes a hand over his face and does his best to get rid of it without Malia’s help. Not that she’d offered any. 

 

When their carriage arrives, signally their turn to leave, Mr. McCall takes his time saying goodbye to Allison. The rest of the pack looks dead on their feet. Miss Reyes is held up by her mate, Mr. Boyd; Miss Martin and Mr. Lahey lean on one another to remain upright; and Mr. Hale and his inscrutable gaze are once again upon Stiles as he waits for his twin to finish her farewell. 

 

Their journey home is quiet for once. Mason is fast asleep against Liam, and Malia is curled up against Stiles. Allison shares a smile with him and he knows exactly what’s going through her head. After everyone is put to bed, Allison and Stiles fall onto their shared mattress and pull the covers up, falling asleep fast in each other's arms.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, don't get confused, but everyone gets to keep their last names. I was toying around with changing last names to suit family situations, but it seemed much simpler to keep them as is. So Danny, while part of the Yukimura family, is still Danny Mahealani. Mason, while part of the Stilinski family, is still Mason Hewitt. And so on. 
> 
> Also, merging Peter with Lady Catherine de Bourgh was a little difficult. So if Peter's a little weird, that's why. And he's Peter.

The very next morning, Mr. Whittemore strides into the sitting room after breakfast, looks directly to Stiles, and announces with great importance, “I would like a private audience with Mr. Stilinski.”

 

“Of course,” Stiles’s father agrees. “Everyone out.”

 

He herds the younger three out, but Allison lingers a moment at the look Stiles gives her.

 

“Don't leave me,” he insists. “He can have nothing to say to me that cannot be said in front of you.”

 

“ _ Allison _ ,” John hisses from the hallway, spurring her into motion. She gives him a tight smile and he knows she’ll be just on the other side of the door listening, and then they’re alone.

 

“I believe that your modesty adds to your appeal,” Mr. Whittemore begins. “Had you not been hesitant, I would have found you less amiable. Rest assured that I have your father’s permission to be alone with you for the moment.

 

“I doubt you have mistaken my purpose here. I am encouraged by my patron to settle down with a mate as soon as possible. Almost as soon as I entered this house, I singled you out as the companion for my future life,” Mr. Whittemore continues while Stiles listens, dread knotting his stomach. “I am comfortable, have a livable income and property, and am set to inherit this estate. And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most animated language of the violence of my affection. I demand no dowry of you father, as I am aware that it cannot be produced, and I assure you that no ungenerous reproach on the subject of fortune shall ever come from me once we are married.”

 

“You’re far too hasty,  _ sir _ , as I have yet to give an answer,” Stiles bites out. “Let me save you some time and effort. Please accept my gratitude for the complement of your proposal, but I must decline.”

 

“I understand that young betas and omegas do not wish to appear to be too eager,” Mr. Whittemore deflects Stiles’s rejection. “Therefore, I am not discouraged and fully expect to wed you before long.”

 

“I assure you I am no such omega. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not possibly make me happy, and I am utterly convinced I am the last omega on the planet that could make you happy,” Stiles responds.

 

“I am not so easily dissuaded,” Mr. Whittemore says. “You’ve got spirit, I shall freely admit, and I will forgive your cruelty at present, because I know it to be the established custom of your type to reject an alpha on the first proposal. I remain encouraged that your delicate nature will see reason.”

 

“ _ Really _ , Mr. Whittemore. I can hardly imagine what I’ve said that you can misconstrue as encouragement. I know of no other way to express my refusal so that you may understand except to say that I’m afraid you’re just not my type,” Stiles says firmly, dropping all pretense of politeness.

 

“I can assure you,” Mr. Whittemore begins with a rather nasty look on his face, “I am everyone’s type.  _ Especially yours _ . You cannot be serious in your rejections because I have too much to offer you. You would be unwise to turn away my connections, my station, and my relation to this family. I can only assume that you mean to increase my desire for you by suspense, as omegas do.”

 

“ _ As omegas do? _ ” Stiles challenges. “I assure you I have no desire to torment a respectable alpha in such a manner. I have made my feelings known, you have my answer, and I can think of nothing more we might have to say. Good day, sir.”

 

Stiles stands and opens the door to the parlor, standing in stony silence until Mr. Whittemore stalks out. He shuts it, sinking to the floor and breathing out heavily as his hands begin to shake. It’s a long moment before Allison and Malia sneak back into the room. Allison wraps a blanket around his shoulders and hugs him tight while Malia crouches in front of them.

 

“So, how much of that did you hear?” Stiles asks.

 

“All of it,” Malia answers. 

 

“Great,” he laughs derisively, rubbing a hand over his face and then through his hair. 

 

“He’s a shithead,” Malia says, very matter-of-fact, and it has Stiles and Allison laughing.

 

“Yes, he is,” Stiles agrees. “But I don’t believe we’re quit of him quite yet.”

 

“Well,  _ I'm _ not going to marry him,” Malia curls her lip in disgust.

 

Their father slips into the room a few moments later, looking vexed and unsure.

 

“What?” Stiles asks flatly.

 

“I’ve just had a conversation with Mr. Whittemore,” John begins.

 

“No,” Stiles says, looking away from his father.

 

“Let me finish, son,” John requests, waiting until Stiles looks back at him and nods before he continues.

 

“He seemed a little, I don’t know, agitated,” John says, pulling up a stool and seating himself on it. “He said he proposed to you?”

 

“He did,” Stiles answers.

 

“And you rejected him because you’re playing with him and want him to ask again,” John continues.

 

“I can recall no such conversation,” Stiles says.

 

“Well, he’s having a hissy fit in my study right now because you think you’re too good for him,” John says. “Which you are.”

 

Stiles smiles at his father for that. 

 

“He’s demanding I make you marry him, or he’s refusing to propose to you ever again,” John says. “So, you’ve got a choice. You can make Mr. Whittemore happy and never see your family again, or I can tell him to go sleep with the pigs.”

 

“Really?” Stiles asks, throwing the blanket off of his shoulders and sitting upright. 

 

“Really,” John replies. “He may one day, but he doesn't own this house just yet.”

 

“Papa, please make him go away,” Stiles requests, flinging himself into his father’s arms and smiling happily for the first time that day. 

 

At dinner, Mr. Whittemore is suspiciously absent, and when Stiles asks, his father shrugs, claiming he doesn’t know or care where Mr. Whittemore went. It’s good enough for Stiles.

 

 

~*~

 

Mr. Whittemore ends up staying with the Yukimuras, which Stiles would never wish on Kira, but they seem to get on alright, especially Danny. The also find out on the same day that Mr. McCall and the pack he’d been housing at Netherfield have all returned to the city. Allison receives the news in a letter from Miss Martin, and details on their return are very vague. Allison is disappointed, as is Stiles, but he holds her together while she pretends she’s fine. 

 

“Maybe he’ll come back sooner than she suggests,” Stiles offers.

 

“She’s convinced that they’ll all find proper distraction in the city and not want to return to Beacon County until well after winter,” Allison says. “And I doubt if he does come back it will be for me.”

 

“Whyever not?” Stiles asks.

 

“Miss Martin wrote that they were all eager to see Mr. Hale’s sister, Cora Hale,” Allison explains. “She said that they are eager to call her sister.”

 

“As in packmate sister?” Stiles asks.

 

“No, I think she means as a mate, most likely for Mr. McCall himself, seeing as he is one of two alphas in the pack. Mating the other alpha’s sister would bring balance,” Allison states.

 

“It would make sense, I suppose, Stiles says. “But are you sure about that? Has Mr. McCall ever spoken of Miss Hale? I do not recall him saying a word at her mention when I was at Netherfield, and she was brought up by Miss Martin frequently.”

 

“No, of course I’m not sure,” Allison admits. “But it’s easier to think that he’s betrothed to Miss Hale than it is to think that he’s indifferent to me.”

 

“Ally, no one who has seen you and Mr. McCall together can doubt his affection,” Stiles assures her. “We might not be rich or grand or have a fraction of the connections that they do, but I doubt sincerely that anyone would be able to persuade him that he is destined for another when he’s so in love with you.”

 

“Even if that were true, how could I possibly accept an alpha whose packmates are wishing him to mate elsewhere?” Allison asks. “How would I fit in? I would ruin everything.”

 

“That you must figure out for yourself,” Stiles says. “Only you can decide if your happiness is worth more than the machinations of meddling packmates.”

 

“You’re quite unforgiving,” Allison points out.

 

“And you are  _ too _ forgiving,” Stiles retorts. “You know, if he’s to spend the winter in the city, you should go visit our aunt and uncle and make it known that you’re there, for once Mr. McCall finds out, I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned up the very next second.”

 

“I don’t know,” Allison says, chewing on her bottom lip a bit. “What if he doesn’t?”

 

“Then isn’t a change of scenery enough?” Stiles asks. “Maybe it will benefit you to go someplace new and just take care of yourself for a while.”

 

“I suppose I could,” Allison says. “But what about you and Papa? I wouldn’t be abandoning you?”

 

“Malia can help,” Stiles volunteers her.

 

“ _ No, I can’t _ ,” is heard from somewhere above them. Stiles closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. She’s going to kill him one of these days. He has no idea how she does half of the things she does.

 

“Malia can  _ learn _ to help,” Stiles says firmly and without further comment from Malia.

 

“If you’re sure,” Allison says.

 

“I am,” Stiles smiles. “Now, write to them and hopefully we’ll soon be seeing you off to the city.”

  
~*~  
  


They dine with the Yukimuras the following night. Allison remains subdued, but only to Stiles’s notice. Stiles is not keen to be in the presence of Mr. Whittemore again, but he decides to bear it with as much grace as he can muster. Stiles subtly thanks Kira the first chance he gets for her parents taking in Mr. Whittemore as a guest so quickly.

 

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Kira assures him sunnily. He wonders if there’s anyone she doesn’t think of kindly. “He and Danny get along like a house on fire. It’s been kind of weird, really, but in a good way!”

 

Mr. Whittemore, it seems, is resolved to ignore Stiles to the best of his ability, which suits Stiles just fine. They make it through dinner without incident, even from Malia, and then retire to the parlor to converse and relax after a fulfilling meal.

 

Kira sits close with him in a cozy corner, biting her lip before leaning in closely and warning him to keep his voice down.

 

“I feel obligated to tell you, as I’m sure no one else will,” Kira begins. “But Mr. Whittemore asked Danny to marry him this morning and Danny accepted him.”

 

“What?!” Stiles squeaks before controlling himself better. “Danny is engaged to Mr. Whittemore? How?”

 

“I knew you would be surprised,” Kira says. “But they get on very well. You and Danny are very different people.”

 

“He just asked me but a few days ago,” Stiles reminds her. “And he’s completely ridiculous.”

 

“When you know, you know,” Kira says. “They took one look at each other, and it just happened. He’s offering Danny a comfortable home, protection, love, and I couldn’t be happier for my brother. I really do think he balances out Mr. Whittemore. But... there’s more.”

 

“What is it?” Stiles asks, watching Danny interact with Mr. Whittemore. The alpha seems softer, more relaxed, and the way he and Danny look at each other reminds Stiles of Allison and Mr. McCall. And of their father and mother when she was still alive. They were so in love it was obvious to anyone who looked at them.

 

“I am going with them when they leave for Lord Peter's estate,” Kira says softly.

 

“You’re leaving Beacon Hills?” Stiles turns to her, feeling sad already at the loss of Kira in the neighborhood.

 

“I have a chance to improve my life, a chance at happiness if I go with them,” Kira points out. “They’ll care and provide for me, and I’ll tend the garden or cook or something to earn my keep. And I’ll go to dinners at Rosings and meet different alphas and betas. I just want my chance, and I’m afraid I’ll die an old maid if I stay here. Please be happy for me.”

 

“I understand, and I will,” Stiles says kindly, taking her hand and holding it. “I’ll miss you.”

 

“I’ll miss you too, but I’ll write often,” she assures him.  “And you’ll have to come visit once we’re settled. Promise me?”

 

“I will, I promise,” Stiles says. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allison leaves for the city and Stiles leaves for the country. Peter makes an appearance. 
> 
> Also, I've never posted chapters this short. I feel like I don't even know myself. >_<

They receive word from their aunt and uncle in the city, who are more than pleased to receive Allison for the winter. They send a lovely carriage and a footman to help her with her luggage and deliver her back to their home. Allison is excited and nervous. She keeps asking Stiles if he’s sure she should go and he keeps assuring her that they’ll all be fine and that there  _ should _ still be a house standing when she returns. 

 

“You’re wrong for that,” she warns him, popping him on the arm and then hugging him tightly. 

 

She hugs their father next, who insists she write them daily and to listen to her aunt and uncle. 

 

“And don’t feel like you have to stay,” John says as he lets her go reluctantly. “If you miss home too much, we’ll be right here waiting for you.”

 

“Thank you, Papa,” she smiles. “I’ll be fine, and I will see you at the first sign of spring.”

 

“I’ll count down the days,” John smiles back, eyes misting over finally.

 

Allison and Stiles say their goodbyes and they watch her tuck herself into the carriage, waving at them as the footman climbs up and the driver urges the horses forward.

 

“So, Allison is crossed in love,” John says as they watch the carriage take her away to the city. 

 

“I suppose you could say that,” Stiles agrees.

 

“Eh, it’s good for young people to be a little crossed in love sometimes,” John continues.

 

“Builds character?” Stiles asks with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Among other things,” John agrees. “So, when is your turn going to be?”

 

“Since only the deepest love can persuade me into even considering taking a mate, I am afraid, father, that I am to die an old maid,” Stiles says.

 

“I find that difficult to believe,” John snorts and Stiles smiles. They both know he’s full of shit. “What about that Mr. Raeken? He seemed to like you plenty. I’m sure he would jilt you credibly.”

 

“You’re awful,” Stiles groans, covering his face with one hand as his father laughs beside him.

 

“You know if anyone jilted you, they’d have me and Allison to run from,” John takes him by the shoulder and draws him in as Allison’s carriage finally disappears over the horizon. 

 

“I know,” Stiles says. “But I would settle for a less agreeable mate if he suited me right.”

 

“I pray I never see the day,” John says.

 

“At this rate, you never will,” Stiles responds. “Rest assured, father. You’ll never be rid of me.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” John embraces him and Stiles lets him. 

 

Living without Allison for the winter is going to be hard.

  
~*~  
  


Stiles limits his time accompanying his siblings into town, entrusting Malia to that task instead. He helps his father around the estate, staying busy with preparations for the winter weather that is approaching. He can already feel a bite to the wind. 

 

Winter comes and begins to thaw uneventfully. Christmas is subdued without Allison, at least for Stiles and his father, and the dreary snow of January and February begins to wear Stiles down even though he receives regular letters from both Kira and Allison throughout the winter.

 

Kira is settling down nicely at Mr. Whittemore and Danny’s house in Hunsford. She says that Danny forces Mr. Whittemore into tending the garden to help him with his attitude, Stiles can only assume. As odd as he thinks it is, Kira assures him that Danny and Mr. Whittemore are completely in love and treat each other well. She says the house is large enough to host at least four guests and that she had been invited with Danny and Mr. Whittemore to dine at Rosings with Lord Peter and his daughter regularly. 

 

Lord Peter, according to Kira, is friendly, but scary. Stiles smiles when he reads that, imagining sweet, kind Kira shaking in her shoes in the presence of a powerful, dominating Lord alpha. She begs of him to come visit at his earliest convenience, assuring him that Danny is also eager to see him and Mr. Whittemore is more than glad to host his cousin. Stiles tells her he’s very glad to hear everything has exceeded her expectations and informs her that he plans to travel to Hunsford at the beginning of March. Kira is ecstatic in her response.

 

Allison writes as well that she’s arrived in the city at their aunt and uncle’s house safely. She’s been settling in and keeping to the house since arriving, but their aunt is going into the part of the city where Mr. McCall and his packmates are currently staying soon. She plans to accompany her and take the opportunity to call on Miss Martin if possible. Stiles writes back, wishing her well and telling her about Kira and Danny. 

 

When Allison writes back, Stiles is infuriated. Allison has been doing her best, but it seems that Miss Martin has done a spectacular job, likely in collusion with others in the pack, at keeping Mr. McCall away from Allison. Allison doesn’t see this, of course, but Stiles is far more aware of Miss Martin’s shrewd nature and would not think such a thing as below her. Allison is convinced of Mr. McCall’s indifference now, no thanks in part to Miss Martin. Miss Martin has encouraged Allison into this line of thinking, and Stiles has no doubt it is as a means to drive her away back to Beacon Hills. Stiles has half a mind to march into the city himself and set everyone straight. It would serve them right. 

 

But he’s bound for Hunsford in less than a week to see Kira. And besides, Allison would likely take exception to anyone running to her rescue.

  
~*~  
  


The trip to Hunsford is uneventful. When Stiles arrives at Mr. Whittemore’s house, he’s greeted enthusiastically by Kira before being hugged briefly by Danny and exchanging a firm handshake with Mr. Whittemore. Kira shows him inside and to his room while a footman brings his belongings inside. Stiles is vaguely aware of Mr. Whittemore talking about his house and making comments about how any omega should find it adequate. Stiles shares a look with Kira, who drags him into her own private parlor to save him.

 

“We can be alone in here,” Kira assures him as they sit. “You must be tired.”

 

“A little road-weary, but no worse than usual,” Stiles says, relaxing in a seat that isn’t in constant motion. It’s pleasant. “This is a nice house.”

 

“Oh, Stiles,” Kira sighs happily. “It is such a pleasure to be here. Mr. Whittemore has been so kind to me, and I’ve never been happier than to see my brother so in love. I hope they have a baby soon. Oh, that probably sounds weird, but I would so love to help them raise it. That is, if I don’t have my own mate by then.”

 

“I’m certain that you will,” Stiles assures her.

 

“Kira! Come quick!” Danny shouts from downstairs.

 

“Oh, goodness,” she gasps. “I hope the chickens haven’t gotten loose again.”

 

“Chickens?” Stiles asks, standing after she does and following her down the stairs to where her brother is staring out of a window at the most opulent carriage Stiles has ever laid eyes upon. “What’s that?” he asks.

 

“It’s Lord Peter,” Danny says, as Mr. Whittemore walks back into the house and the carriage pulls away.

 

“Good news!” Mr. Whittemore announces with a grin. “We’ve all received an invitation to dine at Rosings tonight with Lord Peter and his household.”

 

“How wonderful!” Kira rejoices. “You’ll love it, Stiles.”

 

“And do not worry about your appearance, cousin,” Mr. Whittemore says snidely. “Lord Peter will find you very... charming in what you have. Just put on the best you’ve brought.”

 

With that, he strides away, leaving Stiles standing there with Danny and Kira looking right at him.

 

“If you didn’t pack anything suitable, I’ve got some things that will fit you just fine,” Danny assures him with a loaded glance in the direction of his mate. “He can be heavy handed sometimes, but I’ll handle him. You take care of yourself and Kira and I will make sure you feel confident in your appearance.”

 

“Thanks, Danny,” Stiles says, offering Danny a small smile that is returned before Danny follows his mate.

 

“Come on, Stiles,” Kira says, charging back up the stairs toward his guest room. “Let’s see what you brought!”

 

Kira helps Stiles choose a pair of grey breeches, a white shirt, and a black waistcoat. He shines his boots within an inch of their life while she fusses over his coat, telling him in no uncertain terms that he needs to take better care of his clothes. He shoos her out of his room to get dressed when they’re both done with making sure his attire is presentable. He gives himself a final check in the mirror, making sure he doesn’t look too much like an idiot, and then he joins the party downstairs for a lovely evening walk to Rosings. 

 

The park is beautiful, he notices, even in the dwindling light, and the house is the grandest he’s ever seen. Kira elbows him and mimics closing her mouth, letting him know he’d been gawking, as Mr. Whittemore rattles off various facts and costs in updating Rosings, particularly the gleaming windows, the vastness of the fireplace, the numerous paintings, and the perfectly manicured lawn. Stiles admittedly only half listens, but it is mostly because he finds Mr. Whittemore’s voice grating.

 

The inside of the house is just as impressive as the outside, and Stiles can’t help staring at all of the finery as they’re led through its corridors. When they arrive in the sitting room where they’re to be received, Lord Peter, his daughter, and Miss Morrell rise to greet them while Danny introduces each group to each other.

 

Stiles bows his head, as is expected of him, and assesses the Lord himself and each lady. Lord Peter gives the air of a powerful alpha. He has very sharp eyes and a countenance that does not speak of malleability, exuding confidence and authority. It is therefore quite a surprise for Stiles to find his daughter to be naught but a slip of a beta, hardly anything to be seen to liken her to her alpha father. Miss Morrell, of the other hand, has a gaze that unsettles Stiles and raises the hair on the back of his neck. The more she looks at him, the more he feels like she can see inside his head. 

 

As they sit, he makes a mental note to avoid Miss Morrell if possible. Mr. Whittemore, much to Stiles’s annoyance, engages Lord Peter in conversation. He seems delighted to condescend to him whenever the opportunity presents, and insists on Danny and Kira contributing to the flow of the conversation at regular intervals. Stiles learns very quickly that nothing appears to be beneath Lord Peter’s notice, nor does he possess any compunction in dictating life choices to others. 

 

“How many siblings do you have, Mr. Stilinski?” Lord Peter directs his attention to him quite suddenly, catching Stiles by surprise, likely as he had intended.

 

Stiles feels not unlike a bug under a magnifying glass and highly suspects he is being weighed and judged. 

 

“Four, your lordship,” Stiles answers. “All betas.”

 

“Four? Are they younger or older?” he questions.

 

“One is my twin,” Stiles begins. “The rest are younger, with my youngest just turning sixteen this past year.”

 

“And are any of them out in society?” he asks.

 

“Yes, sir,” Stiles confirms. “All.”

 

“ _ All _ ?” Lord Peter raises an eyebrow. “All five of you at once? How odd, but I suppose having younger ones so close in age to the older ones, it would make sense. No need to rob the younger children of the amusement and opportunity of being out in society just because the older children are not yet mated.”

 

“Yes,” Stiles agrees. “I think that would hardly encourage affection between us.”

 

“Indeed, I think not,” Lord Peter agrees. “Tell me, what is your age, Mr. Stilinski?”

 

“Your lordship can hardly expect me to own to it with three younger siblings already out in society,” Stiles evades.

 

“I don’t see why not. You cannot possibly be more than one and twenty,” Lord Peter declares, narrowing his light gaze as if he can detect Stiles’s age with his eyes alone.

 

“One and twenty, I am not,” Stiles responds. He doesn't know why feels the need to withhold his age, but he does. 

 

Lord Peter does not say anything further, but by his expression, Stiles thinks he may have just earned himself a great deal more unwanted attention.

 

At dinner, Lord Peter insists on Danny sitting next to Mr. Whittemore while Stiles sits next to Kira. They all react so placidly to the direction that Stiles suspects this is a regular occurrence. During the course of the meal, the subject of his father’s entail arises and Stiles finds himself uncomfortably back in Lord Peter’s sights. 

 

“I think that though Mr. Mahealani benefits most from the entail, it is a dreadful institution,” he says. “I see no reason for entailing estates away from betas and omegas. It does no one any good.”

 

Stiles is in no position to disagree with him. As it stands, he can only hope for the mercy of Kira’s older brother and a man he thinks very little of should the worst happen to his father. He can hardly expect to not be turned out of house and home with three younger siblings at this point. He hasn’t exactly given Mr. Whittemore any reasons to show him charity. 

 

“Do you play the pianoforte, Mr. Stilinski?” Lord Peter asks, abruptly changing the subject.

 

“Very poorly, sir,” he answers.

 

“And sing? Do you sing?” he asks.

 

“I’m afraid my singing is even worse,” he admits. 

 

“A pity,” he sighs, looking marvelously disappointed. “We have a very superior pianoforte that I’m sure you could give a try for us sometime. Do you draw?”

 

“Not at all,” Stiles says, feeling uncomfortable. There’s more to an education that music and drawing. 

 

“I suppose you had no opportunity,” Lord Peter infers. There’s an audible clink as Stiles drops his fork to his plate. “Your mother should have taken you to town to see the masters.”

 

“I’m sure she would have, but she passed away when I was young,” Stiles says with a sharp look, feeling anxiety and sadness well up inside him until Kira puts a hand on his knee, anchoring him. 

 

“Then your governess should have,” Lord Peter barrels through without acknowledging Stiles’s admission.

 

“We had no governess,” Stiles grits through his teeth.

 

“No governess!” Lord Peter looks mildly surprised. “Five children and no governess. Your father must have been a slave to your education or else you must have been quite neglected.”

 

“Not at all,” Stiles says after a calming breath or two. It wouldn’t do to strangle an alpha Lord at his own dinner table. “We were encouraged to read and to learn about history, math, and science. We had the means to learn what we considered important. I can hardly declare us neglected. Is that not what matters?”

 

“You certainly give your opinion quite freely and decidedly for an omega,” Lord Peter says with a sharp smile. Stiles does not think it is friendly in the least. “A governess, I daresay, would have been a great benefit and given you a proper omega’s education. Had I known your father, I would have insisted he engage one.”

 

Lord Peter turns his attention back to the group at large, and Stiles tunes him out and focuses on surviving the rest of dinner. He takes Kira’s hand and squeezes it in thanks, giving her a slight smile and a silent agreement to discuss everything later. 

  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek shows up at Rosings with Deaton. 
> 
> I edited more than I thought today.

After a fortnight of dining twice weekly at Rosings, dodging Mr. Whittemore, and taking long walks through the estate’s woods with Kira, Mr. Whittemore announces that they are to receive special visitors from Rosings: Mr. Derek Hale himself and his cousin Mr. Alan Deaton. Mr. Whittemore mentions something about Stiles’s presence hastening the arrival of the two gentlemen, but Stiles is at a loss as to how he’s responsible in any way.

 

When the doorbell rings and the men are admitted, Stiles finds Mr. Hale just as handsome and just as severe as when they last saw each other. Mr. Deaton, a beta, has a friendly countenance and a secretive smile, but he lacks the presence of his cousin. Mr. Deaton has little trouble taking a seat and fitting right into the conversation while Mr. Hale sits in silence away from the group.

 

He seems to break from a fog after several moments and walks closer to Stiles. 

 

“I trust your family is in good health,” he says to Stiles quietly. 

 

“They are, thank you,” Stiles says. “My sister has been in the city these three months. Have you seen her?”

 

He’s perfectly aware that Mr. Hale had not, in fact, seen her, but part of him, the vicious part of him that would do terrible things to see Allison happy, wanted to see if he’d had any knowledge of Miss Martin and her interactions with Allison. For a brief moment, he looks confused.

 

“I did not,” he replies. 

 

He appears to decide against pursuing further conversation and leaves Stiles’s side to retake his place in the corner. It’s not soon after that both gentlemen take their leave, needing to return to Rosings for dinner.

 

When they go, it is agreed that Mr. Deaton’s manners are those of a well-bred gentleman and they all look forward to his added presence at the dinners at Rosings.

  
~*~  
  


A few days pass before another invitation is extended and Stiles finds himself in his best clothes again, sitting in the drawing room at Rosings, feeling even more out of place than the last several times. At least he’s prepared to be interrogated this time, and at least Mr. Hale’s presence is not a surprise. 

 

Stiles finds himself engaged in lively conversation with Mr. Deaton. The beta is a font of knowledge, knowing bits of everything from breeds of dog to star alignment and how painofortes are made. Stiles’s inquisitive nature cannot pass up the opportunity to interview Mr. Deaton as completely as he can. They seem to get on so well that they draw the attention of both Lord Peter and Mr. Hale, whose eyes Stiles’s can feel on them from across the room.

 

“Alan, what is it you are saying to him?” Lord Peter demands. “Let me hear what it is.”

 

“We were speaking of music, my Lord,” Mr. Deaton explains. “Of the harmonic scale and varying clefs and which instruments they are better suited for.”

 

“Ah, music!” Lord Peter says, appearing delighted. “I believe Mr. Stilinski owes us at least an etude. How does Cora play, Derek?”

 

“She plays very well,” Mr. Hale responds with a glance toward Stiles who most definitely does not appreciate being put on the spot my anyone, much less alpha lords.

 

“Good,” Lord Peter smiles. “Tell me she practices a good deal.”

 

“She practices every day,” Mr. Hale assures him with a tone that suggests he’s had this conversation before. 

 

“Excellent. I shall still remind her when I write her next,” Lord Peter says. “As she should know, no excellence in music shall ever be acquired without diligent practice. This I have bestowed upon Mr. Stilinski several times, and he is very welcome to come practice on our pianoforte should he so choose. At his convenience, of course.”

 

With the thinly veiled suggestion, Mr. Hale’s face darkens as his heavy brow furrows and his jaw flexes at the joint. Maybe he finds him just as ill-mannered as Stiles does. Mr. Deaton continues to speak of pianofortes and whether or not Stiles can play. Stiles assures him that it would be for the benefit of everyone present if he did not, but they still have Lord Peter’s attention and he will clearly not be satisfied until Stiles has thoroughly embarrassed himself in front of everyone.

 

With much reluctance, Stiles sits at the pianoforte and tries out all of the scales he remembers. He goes through all of the majors and most of the minors before Mr. Deaton sets down sheet music in front of him.

 

“You play,” he says gently. “I’ll turn.”

 

“Not too fast,” Stiles warns him with a thankful smile. “I do promise it is not false modesty when I say I’m not proficient.”

 

“I won’t judge,” Mr. Deaton offers and Stiles takes a deep breath.

 

He waits for Lord Peter to engage Mr. Hale in conversation again before he fumbles his way through the first eight bars of the piece. He’s grateful it’s a slow piece and that Mr. Deaton’s presence does not make him nervous. He flubs a trickier passage and laughs it off with Mr. Deaton, who assures him he’s doing just fine. He’s sure that all Lord Peter wanted was background music anyway. 

 

Mr. Hale joins them before long, just as dark and stormy as ever. And just as breathtakingly handsome. 

 

“You mean to startle me, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says when there is a pause in the music. 

 

“I do not believe I could startle you, even if I tried,” Mr. Hale says. 

 

“What was Derek like in Beacon Hills?” Mr. Deaton asks, turning a glance toward his cousin.

 

“Do you really want to know?” Stiles asks with gravity, waiting for Mr. Deaton to nod before continuing. “Then you must prepare yourself for something truly dreadful. The first time I saw him, he danced with no one, though gentlemen were scarce and there was more than one dancer without a partner.”

 

“I knew no one beyond my own party,” Mr. Hale asserts.

 

“True. And no one can ever be introduced in a ballroom,” Stiles shoots back.

 

“I do not have the talent, which some are lucky to possess, of conversing easily with those I have never seen before,” Mr. Hale says.

 

“Perhaps you should take your uncle’s advice and practice,” Stiles suggests with a grin. 

 

He’s surprised to see Mr. Hale smile after huffing out what sounds like a soft laugh. It’s not a large or a wide smile, but the corners of his mouth turn up and it reaches his eyes, driving away the darkness if only for a moment. And in that moment, he’s the most beautiful thing Stiles has ever seen.

  
~*~  
  


Stiles is sitting by himself the next morning, resolved to write to Allison while he has the house to himself. Kira, Danny, and Mr. Whittemore had gone to the village nearby earlier and Stiles has been enjoying the solitude ever since. He puts his quill to the paper and begins drafting his letter only to be interrupted by the doorbell ringing, announcing a visitor. He hadn’t heard a carriage approach, so he’s reasonably certain that it is not Lord Peter. If it were, he would need to put away his half finished letter, lest it invite any prying questions that Stiles is eager to avoid. 

 

The door opens before Stiles can decide whether or not to hide his letter, and to his great surprise, Mr. Hale, and only Mr. Hale, enters. He seems just as surprised to find Stiles by himself.

 

“I had not thought you alone,” he admits as Stiles offers him a seat. 

 

Mr. Hale is a gentleman of great standing. Stiles understands that no one could possibly misconstrue any unchaperoned meeting between them as anything unseemly.

 

“Mr. Whittemore, Danny, and Kira have all gone to the village,” Stiles explains, wondering how in the world he’s found himself alone in a room with Mr. Hale. “How are things at Rosings?”

 

Mr. Hale looks uncomfortable at Stiles’s question, but he informs him, nonetheless, that things are Rosings are as expected.

 

“This is a . . . charming house,” Mr. Hale comments as he seems determined to look anywhere  _ but _ at Stiles, who feels a mixture of amusement and insult.

 

“According to Mr. Whittemore, your uncle had a great deal of work done to it before he moved in,” Stiles says. “He could not have bestowed his generosity on a more grateful subject.” 

 

If Mr. Whittemore is grateful, Stiles will eat his hat.

 

“So it would appear,” Mr. Hale says with a tone of voice that reflects Stiles’s own opinions of Mr. Whittemore. 

 

“Shall I call for tea?” Stiles offers.

 

“No, thank you,” Mr. Hale declines and they fall into a silence.

 

It’s blessedly short, as they are both startled by Kira and Danny bursting through the door a half minute later. Mr. Hale all but leaps to his feet at their entrance and bows his head at Stiles, who remains seated.

 

“Good day, Mr. Stilinski,” he says. “It’s been a pleasure.”

 

And with that, he practically flees the house, the three of them staring after his abrupt departure. Danny is the first to shake it off, Kira following him seconds later as Danny turns to Stiles with curiosity in his eyes.

 

“What on earth have you done to Mr. Hale?” Danny asks.

 

“I have no idea,” Stiles responds, completely baffled by the whole visit.

 

“Maybe he likes you,” Kira suggests.

 

Danny snorts and rolls his eyes while Stiles tries not to laugh hysterically.

 

“Don’t be absurd,” Stiles says. “I’m afraid I’m the last person he could ever be compelled to like.”

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woowooo! The big clash!

Despite Stiles’s views on the subject, he notices Mr. Hale visiting with Mr. Deaton to the Whittemore house on social calls more and more frequently, though he still chooses to remain a silent presence removed from the group at large. He also happens upon Stiles on walks through the park, and regardless of making Mr. Hale aware of his favorite spots so as to give Mr. Hale enough information to avoid him, they keep meeting. Mr. Hale never speaks much, but he does accompany Stiles back to the house far more often than not.

 

When Mr. Hale does speak, it’s an odd assortment of seemingly random thoughts. He asks Stiles how he likes Mr. Whittemore’s house, how he finds Rosings, whether he would like to visit again, and what he likes best about the park. 

 

He has haunted Stiles so consistently that he is surprised that instead of meeting Mr. Hale, he happens across Mr. Deaton a few days before he is due to head back home. 

 

“I did not know you walked the park,” Stiles greets him warmly. He has been a most amiable companion these past few weeks.

 

“I have been making a tour, as it’s such a lovely day,” Mr. Deaton responds. “Shall we walk together? I am headed back to the Whittemore house.”

 

“I should like that very much,” Stiles agrees and they fall in step together. “How long do you plan to stay at Rosings?”

 

“As long as Derek chooses,” Mr. Deaton admits. “I am at his disposal for now.”

 

“Everyone appears to be,” Stiles grumbles. 

 

“He does like to have his own way, but so do we all,” Mr. Deaton says sagely.

 

“Would that we all could have such control of our own destinies,” Stiles says, trying to keep the sour note from his voice. Mr Deaton has just as much control over Stiles’s lot in life as Stiles does himself. “I wonder why he does not take a mate, as it would give him a lasting convenience of that kind.”

 

“Would it?” Mr. Deaton raises an eyebrow at him. “Either way, his mate would be most fortunate as Mr. Hale is as loyal a companion as they come.”

 

“To those he considers his equal, I assume,” Stiles says scathingly. 

 

“He takes great care of his friends, whomever they may be,” Mr. Deaton states. 

 

“That has yet to be proven,” Stiles challenges. “Do you know of any such instance where Mr. Hale has exhibited such selflessness?”

 

“I have. Very recently, he came to the rescue of a dear friend,” Mr. Deaton declares.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Apparently, he saved him from a most imprudent mating,” Mr. Deaton states and Stiles feels his blood run cold. 

 

“Who--who was his friend?” Stiles asks, dreading the answer that he must know.

 

“Mr. Scott McCall,” Mr. Deaton confirms Stiles’s darkest suspicion.

 

“And did Mr. Hale give you his reasons for the interference?” Stiles questions.

 

“I believe there were some objections to the lady,” Mr. Deaton replies. “Strong ones.”

 

“What kind of objections?” Stiles demands.

 

“As I understand it, it was her family, but I could be mistaken,” Mr. Deaton says. “I recall a lack of fortune, but I’m not sure Mr. McCall could have been dissuaded on that alone, nor do I believe that would have been sufficient in itself to compel Derek to act.”

 

“Her family!” Stiles scoffs, reeling from the revelation that Mr. Hale found his family so abhorrent as to drive a wedge between Allison and Mr. McCall. “Did he say how he accomplished separating them?”

 

“I know nothing else, I’m afraid,” Mr. Deaton says. 

 

“Thank you for what you’ve told me,” Stiles says. “I must let you know, your cousin’s conduct strikes me as offensive. Why did he think himself a better judge of the direction of his friend’s happiness than his friend himself? I will admit it is not fair to condemn him without knowing all of the particulars, but he has indeed tarnished whatever victory he could have claimed with his blatant display of irredeemable pride.”

 

Mr. Deaton does not contradict him and bids him good day at Mr. Whittemore’s house, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts. That Mr. Hale had been the architect of Allison’s misery and embarrassment is a shock. Stiles had always suspected Miss Martin the principal engineer of that particular injury. However, knowing Mr. Hale as he does, Stiles blames his actions entirely on his own predilection to vanity and caprice, both of which resulted in the suffering of his sister.

 

He is confident Allison herself could not be seen as objectionable. She is intelligent, well-mannered, kind, and strikingly beautiful. His father, Stiles knows, is indispensable to Beacon Hills, and though he does not run his house or his children like most parents of similar means, he acquits himself with respect and has the admiration and trust of the town that he serves so diligently.

 

Stiles resolves that Mr. Hale’s objections bear little resemblance to reality and is determined to avoid Mr. Hale until he is well quit of Hunsford and on his way back home. It is not an easy feat, as he is expected at dinner at Rosings that evening. He thoroughly convinces Kira and Danny that he is not well enough to attend, but has to endure Mr. Whittemore’s grumbling and concern regarding Lord Peter’s assured displeasure at his absence. A few words from Danny have Mr. Whittemore conceding and agreeing to give Lord Peter Stiles’s regrets, and then he is alone again. 

 

Stiles can’t help but ruminate over his recent discovery. It appalls him that anyone could behave in such an overbearing manner. He’s worked himself up into considerable exasperation when the bell for the door rings. Stiles half expects it to be Mr. Deaton or even Lord Peter, bent on dragging him from the house to dinner, but he is utterly amazed to see the object of his rather wrathful thoughts walk into the room.

 

Mr. Hale seems agitated, restless. He tries to sit a handful of times, but settles on pacing across the room as Stiles observes him without comment. 

 

“Are you feeling better?” the words are clipped, hurried, like Mr. Hale is afraid of speaking them.

 

“A bit,” Stiles bites out with a narrowed glare.

 

Mr. Hale continues his pacing, glancing at the sofa every few strides like he means to sit but can’t bring himself to stop moving. Suddenly, he stops, seeming to come to a decision as he turns on his heel and strides over to Stiles, Mr. Hale’s eyes bright and intense as he looks directly at him. For a second, Stiles feels the urge to run. Mr. Hale is a powerful alpha whose abrupt approach leaves Stiles apprehensive, as Mr. Hale could tear Stiles apart with little effort if he wished. 

 

But Stiles is angry and welcomes the challenge, refusing to back down despite the knowledge that he’s inviting aggression and daring the alpha to make him submit, which is why he is not at all prepared for what comes out of Mr. Hale’s mouth.

 

“I have struggled in vain and I can keep this in no longer,” Mr. Hale begins. “From the very first time we met, you enchanted me with your vibrance. I've thought of nothing but you for the last several months. As soon as I heard you were here I came at once, if only for the chance to see you. I've fought against my own better judgement, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your circumstance, and put them aside to beg you to end my suffering.”

 

“I'm not sure I understand,” Stiles says, heart pounding at the implication of Mr. Hale’s words spoken so passionately.

 

“I love you. Most ardently” Mr. Hale says. “Please do me the honor of accepting my hand.”

 

Stiles is shocked. How dare Mr. Hale come here and offer him marriage! If Stiles had less self-respect, well, he's sure he'd have slapped Mr. Hale for his arrogance.

 

“I appreciate your struggle, and apologize for any pain I may have caused,” Stiles says, clipped and firm. “It has been most unconsciously done.”

 

“Are you… are you rejecting me?” Mr. Hale asks, looking for all the world as if he had expected to be accepted.

 

“I am quite certain, Mr. Hale, that my rejection will unburden your conscience sufficiently, and the feelings which have long prevented the acknowledgment of your regard will help in overcoming it,” Stiles says stiffly. 

 

“Is that to be your only response?” Mr. Hale inquires after a brief, tense silence, his green eyes boring a hole through Stiles. 

 

“What more could you desire?” Stiles asks.

 

“Perhaps an explanation as to what you find so abhorrent in offering my hand,” is Mr. Hale’s reply.

 

“How to begin?” Stiles narrows his eyes. “First you insult myself and my family, then you offer your hand while claiming you love me  _ despite _ my disadvantageous position and objectionable family! How can you truly love me as you claim if it is against your better judgement? And if that was not enough, could you possibly expect me to be remotely tempted to accept the hand of the man responsible for ruining the happiness of a dear sister, possibly forever! By your actions alone you have exposed your friend to the censure of the world for caprice and instability, and my sister to its derision for disappointed hopes, involving them both in misery of acutest kind. Do you deny it?”

 

Mr. Hale pales at Stiles’s words. Stiles reckons he's never met such a strong-willed omega. 

 

“I do not,” Mr. Hale admits softly.

 

“And what reason do you give for splitting up what would have been a happy mating?” Stiles demands. 

 

“I thought your sister indifferent,” Mr. Hale says. “I realized his attachment was deeper and sought to spare him.”

 

“Allison is far from indifferent,” Stiles snorts. “She hides it well, I fear, because she has had to bear the burden of caring for us all these past few years. Her responsibility has forced her to put others first.”

 

“I apologize for insulting your sister's character so,” Mr. Hale says. “It was my aim only to save Mr. McCall from a poor match.”

 

“Oh, a poor match?” Stiles repeats incredulously. “So it  _ was _ more than your suspicion of her affection. Was her family included in the objection?”

 

“Of course,” Mr. Hale answers quickly, brow furrowed. To anyone else he might seem menacing, but Stiles has had him scrambling for so long now that he no longer feels intimidated. 

 

“Based on what?”

 

“Your younger siblings have been seen publicly conducting themselves in an improprietous manner. You and your sister I must exclude from this,” Mr. Hale accuses, but Stiles cannot deny it. 

 

He's been embarrassed before by the behavior of his younger siblings. He and Allison try their best, as does their father, but they're at an age where the impulse to run wild is strong. 

 

“And what of your treatment of poor Mr. Raeken? How do you acquit yourself in his tale?” Stiles pushes, vindicating his sister making him feel bold. “He speaks kindly of you though you've slighted him, but you speak of him with such open disdain and hostility. He claims you the sole owner of his ruination. What say you to that?”

 

“Raeken?” Mr. Hale looks aghast, eyes flashing red at the mention of the beta. “Is that what you think of me?”

 

Stiles remains silent, part of him hoping that Mr. Hale will mount a defense and refutation, but part of him suspecting Mr. Hale will do no such thing. 

 

“Thank you,” Mr. Hale says eventually, quietly, soberly. “Perhaps these offences might have been overlooked had your pride not been hurt by my honest confession of my scruples regarding our relationship. Am I to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances? To congratulate myself on the hope of relations whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?”

 

Stiles laughs in disbelief. 

 

“And these are the words of a gentleman?” he asks. “Your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain of the feelings of others have succeeded in making me realize that you are the last alpha in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

 

“Thank you, for your opinion, and forgive me for having taken up so much of your time,” Mr. Hale bows his head, back rigid and arms stiffly at his sides. “I'll waste no more of it. Good day, Mr. Stilinski.”

 

Stiles nods, keeping his mouth shut despite having so many things struggling to burst from inside of him. It would not change anything. Instead, he lets Mr. Hale go, an empty feeling inside where he expected victory. 

  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Stiles succeeds in begging off company for the remainder of his stay. Kira visits him every night, but he isn’t much good for conversation and just listens to her regale him with news of her visits to Rosings instead. He thanks Danny and Mr. Whittemore for their hospitality, hugs Kira, and then climbs into the carriage, leaving Rosings, Lord Peter, and Mr. Hale behind where they belong.

 

He settles into the seat for the half-day journey back to Beacon Hills and takes his book from a satchel, noticing quite immediately an envelope stuck between its pages. Further inspection proves it to be a letter--no, two letters, the first from Kira.

 

_ Stiles, _

 

_ Mr. Hale came by the house once to deliver a letter to you. He insisted on it being in person, but I convinced him to leave it with me instead. I gave him my word that I would pass it to you and that you would read it. Please do not make a liar out of me. _

 

_ I remain ignorant of whatever has transpired between you, but anything that has you shirking company while Mr. Hale seeks it must be truly severe. I hope you find this letter before you leave for Beacon Hills, but if you do not, please understand that I only have your best interests at heart. _

 

_ All of my love, _

_ Kira _

 

Stiles’s hands shake as he puts her letter away and opens the one from Mr. Hale. He dreads what he may find, but takes comfort in the knowledge that they are far away by now with Stiles headed back to Beacon Hills and Mr. Hale due to leave Rosings for Pemberley on the morrow.

 

He unfolds the paper, noting that it is of a finer quality than that of Kira’s, and he lets his eyes trace the sharp, straight lines and tight loops of Mr. Hale’s letters. It is meticulously done, and with a shake of his head and a determination to be true to Kira’s word, he reads.

 

_ Be not alarmed upon receiving this letter, as I shall not repeat those sentiments which were so abhorrent to you. I only seek to address the two offenses you have laid against me, beginning with Mr. Raeken. _

 

_ Mr. Raeken was loved by my mother and father as a son. Our pack was once very large and my parents had the means and the generosity of heart to care for a great many like they were blood. Upon their untimely death and the simultaneous destruction of the majority of my family, Mr. Raeken became an heir to a very generous living upon turning eighteen. His parents had passed when he was quite young, so we supported him through school and it was agreed that the condition of his inheritance would depend upon him pursuing a profession that would enrich the pack.  _

 

_ By the time he turned eighteen, the pack had been reduced to myself, my younger sister, Mr. Deaton, Lord Peter, and Mr. Raeken. Instead of continuing his education in law, as he had declared as his intent several weeks prior, he demanded the value of his inheritance up front. I had watched him grow up and had little reason to worry, so I allowed it and watched him gamble it away within weeks. He wrote to me shortly, demanding more money, and when I refused he convinced my younger sister, my only remaining immediate family, to run away with him. She believed herself in love with him and was convinced that her feelings were returned.  _

 

_ Cora began to have doubts about running away and wrote to me, telling me of her location. I rode to her immediately. I suspected Mr. Raeken had chosen her for her fortune and as revenge against me, and when Cora confirmed my suspicions, I removed her from the situation and made it abundantly clear that Mr. Raeken, regardless of what Cora did, would never see a penny of her inheritance. He disappeared after that, leaving her reeling and brokenhearted. She was only fifteen. _

 

_ As to the other matter, that of your sister and Mr. McCall, please understand that though you find my motives insufficient, they were in the service of a friend. You must know by now that I do not hold your family’s behavior against your or your sister. Though I do find their lack of propriety objectionable, neither Mr. McCall nor myself would consider that alone enough reason to not pursue a match. However, paired with the perceived indifference of your sister, I felt it necessary to intervene. It was not an easy task to convince Mr. McCall to remain in the city for the winter, but he had doubts of his own as well. Mr. McCall values my judgement, and at the time I could not sufficiently reassure him of what I did not know to be true. _

 

_ I cannot fault myself for advising him in this way, but I do regret my other actions in the city this winter. While there, I knew of your sister’s presence, but concealed it from Mr. McCall with the aid of Miss Martin. He still to my knowledge does not know she was there. My reason for keeping this knowledge from him was to spare him the pain of seeing the evidence of a one-sided love.  _

 

_ If my actions have hurt your sister, it was not my intent and I offer my apologies for not thinking better of her. It is not in my nature or experience to see the best in people, and I know not how to overcome it.  _

 

_ I do hope that you do not reject as false the faithful narrative I have given regarding events that have concerned us both. While I dare not ask forgiveness for injury to your sister, I can only hope that you can find it within you to at least acquit me of cruelty toward Mr. Raeken. _

 

_ Derek Hale _

 

That Stiles is holding in his hand an apology he’d thought impossible awes him. He’s so astonished by the contents of Mr. Hale’s letter that all he can do is stare at his looping, perfectly executed signature until a bump in the road jerks him from his trance. His quick mind immediately begins dissecting this new information. 

 

He replays both Mr. Hale’s letter and his own recollection of events for the remainder of the ride. He still finds Mr. Hale to be haughty and prideful with regards to Allison. On this, on  _ her _ , he is unmoveable. But the account of Mr. Raeken he finds so unsettling that it surely must be false. Yet, he cannot let it go. He cannot dismiss Malia’s dislike of Mr. Raeken nor his own suspicions of falseness that he’d felt on more than one occasion. 

 

One of them is surely lying, but whom? Their accounts both match enough, but there is such a discrepancy of motive, with Mr. Hale’s account bearing more detail, detail that makes Stiles hesitate in his judgement. Mr. Hale had no reason to tell Stiles of his sister and her involvement. He has more reason to protect her, and he absolutely does not strike Stiles as the type to be so cavalier with such devastating information. He’s cautious and does not trust easy, if he is to be believed, but he trusted Stiles well enough.

 

The more Stiles thinks of Mr. Hale, the more he understands the alpha had no reason to be false. He has no need of it. Mr. Raeken, on the other hand, could benefit greatly and has benefitted, to Stiles’s knowledge. He remembers the ease and openness with which Mr. Raeken spoke to him when they first met. They were practically strangers, yet he had no compunctions sharing the intimate details of his disgrace, details he kept between Stiles and himself until the pack had quit Netherfield for the winter. No, Mr. Raeken had waited until the alpha was miles away from Beacon Hills before he began sinking Mr. Hale’s character to anyone who would listen.

 

Stiles feels suddenly ashamed, for he’d been blind, partial, prejudiced, and worst of all absurd where Mr. Hale and Mr. Raeken were concerned. It is clear now the man lacking strength of character is and always was Mr. Raeken, and  _ not _ , as Stiles would have happily let himself continue to believe, Mr. Hale. 

 

After this revelation, he allows himself to reread Mr. Hale’s account of Allison and Mr. McCall with new eyes, determined to give him credit where credit is due. As he reads, he remembers Kira’s warning, thinks of Allison’s stoic nature, and allows for Mr. Hale’s own admission of not being a perfect or trusting judge of character. He is dismayed but relieved to discover that he can’t find it within himself to blame Mr. Hale for his perception any more than he can forgive himself for his own egregious estimation. 

 

When he finally arrives home he’s thoroughly exhausted. He slips out of the carriage with very little grace only to fall into his father’s embrace. He holds him tightly, taking in his father’s familiar, comforting scent, and then he’s informed that Allison has also come home. His bags are taken inside after his father lets him go, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder and pushing him inside with orders to see his sister. He finds Allison in the sitting room and only then does he realize how much he’d missed her. They embrace, and Allison cries a little, but assures him that they are happy tears.

 

“How was the country?” Allison asks, but Stiles cannot speak of Hunsford or Rosings right now, so he changes the subject.

 

“I’ll tell you later,” he deflects. “How was the city?”

 

“Busy! But so good,” she smiles. “There was so much to see that I . . . well, if I passed him in the street I’d hardly notice. I’m quite over it.”

 

“Sure,” Stiles says, narrowing his eyes at her.

 

“I am!” she insists. “Now, tell me at least something of your stay in Hunsford. You were there an awfully long time.”

 

“It was the country,” Stiles shrugs. “Kira is well. Danny seems blissful. Mr. Whittemore was overbearing, but Danny doesn’t seem to mind. We dined at Rosings on several occasions and I did not find his lordship to be the shining beacon of civility that Mr. Whittemore saw, but who am I to judge a Lord?”

 

“Indeed!” Allison laughs.

 

“He was terribly put out to let me go home. I suspect he is not often told  _ no _ , but I could not be a source of amusement for him any longer,” Stiles says. “And if I had to listen to Danny call Mr. Whittemore  _ Jack _ in that tone of voice one more time, I might have just found a cliff to fall over.”

 

“You’re still quite unforgiving,” Allison says with a grin. She knows he enjoyed himself, but he knows she likes to hear the mean things he has to say. 

 

“And you’re still too forgiving,” Stiles retorts. 

 

“There are worse things I could be,” she says. 

 

He thinks about Mr. Hale’s letter again as they fall into a comfortable silence. His feelings on the matter vacillate from minute to minute. Sometimes he’s cross with Mr. Hale’s tone and style, but then he becomes angry with himself for how unjustly he’d condemned Mr. Hale without fully knowing the situation. Mr. Hale’s disappointed feelings stir compassion within Stiles, his offer is met with gratitude, and his general character earns respect. But Stiles cannot see himself rescinding his refusal, nor does he feel in any way inclined to see the alpha again.

 

He finally resolves to tell Allison of Mr. Hale’s proposal and watches her face as her astonishment grows.

 

“You don’t blame me, do you, for refusing him?” Stiles asks. 

 

“I could never blame you,” Allison shakes her head.

 

“He wrote me a letter that I read on the ride home,” Stiles says, and then he tells her of the letter relating to Mr. Raeken, but leaving out the part about her. There is no need to burden her with that knowledge. 

 

“I do not believe I have ever been so shocked. Mr. Raeken is indeed a wicked man!” Allison declares. “Poor Mr. Hale, to think of what he must have suffered. And all with your ill opinion of him. Surely upon reading his letter you were not as clear headed about it as you are now.”

 

“Indeed not,” Stiles admits. “I did not have you to comfort me and keep me from being vain and nonsensical.”

 

“Yes,” Allison agrees. “And you did level some very strong and wholly undeserved expressions in speaking of Mr. Raeken at Mr. Hale.”

 

“All of which were my own fault,” Stiles sighs. “Had I not given into prejudice I might have seen Mr. Raeken for what he is and Mr. Hale for what he isn’t. Do you think I should warn the neighbours in regards to Mr. Raeken’s character?”

 

“I think it best if we do not,” Allison states. “There is no way I can see that it could be accomplished without exposing Mr. Hale and his sister in ways they have not consented.”

 

“I am ever so glad to have you with me again,” Stiles says, smiling at her. 

 

“You’d be lost without me,” Allison smiles back.

 

“This is the sound of me agreeing with you,” Stiles says. 

 

They fall silent again, but Stiles is more aware of Allison than his own thoughts now. He sees where the smile slides right off her face, her expression passing back into her stoic mask. He can see through it, though. He can tell that she is in fact not as over Mr. McCall as she’d have everyone believe. Stiles cannot blame her and wishes to tell her the rest of Mr. Hale’s letter, but can’t, knowing that it would do no good and would only add to her heartache. 

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 97% done editing, so it all should go up pretty quick from here on out. Tags will change. I haven't decided whether or not to change the rating or add a kind of epilogue in a separate post to preserve the rating of this "work."

The calm about the Stilinski house is broken not but a week later when Mason hears the news that the regiment is moving across the county to Beacon Heights for the summer. Mason is beside himself, begging their father to take them all to Beacon Heights so that they could all have the campful of soldiers to themselves to find mates. 

 

“I don’t want a mate,” Malia curls her lip in distaste. Stiles has never agreed with her more. After narrowly dodging Mr. Whittemore and the whole mess with Mr. Hale, Stiles is happy to remain romantically unentangled for the foreseeable future.

 

“But they’re soldiers,  _ officers _ ,” Mason says, like it will have any effect on Malia. “And I’ve been invited by Colonel Finstock’s mate! I shall dine with officers every night!”

 

“You can’t let him go,” Allison says quietly to their father as Malia and Mason start yelling at each other.

 

“I agree,” Stiles says. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

 

“Mason will never be agreeable until he’s exposed himself in some public place,” John sighs. “And we could never expect him to do it with so little inconvenience.”

 

“If you don’t put him in check, he’ll be branded as the silliest flirt who ever made his family ridiculous,” Stiles argues, acutely aware, still, of Mr. Hale’s comments on them.

 

“And there’s a solid chance Liam will follow,” Allison warns.

 

“There will be no peace unless he goes,” John says. “None. Do you want this all day, every day?”

 

“That can’t be the only reason,” Stiles groans.

 

“Colonel Finstock is a mostly sensible beta,” John argues. “He’ll keep him out of any real trouble, and Mason’s too poor to become prey for anyone.”

 

“It’s not a good idea,” Allison objects.

 

“Give it up, Ally,” Stiles says. “He’s going to let him go.”

 

“It’s my sincere hope that his time in Beacon Heights will teach him some humility,” John says and leaves them.

 

Allison and Stiles exchange a look.

 

“This should be interesting,” Allison says.

 

“There is no way this doesn’t end badly,” Stiles says. “For all of us.”

  
~*~  
  


Mason is to leave without Liam, much to Liam’s dismay. They’ve always been very close; where one goes, the other is sure to follow. But not this time. Colonel Finstock’s mate is adamant about only having room to take Mason, and Mason is rapturous.

 

They dine with the regimental officers on their and Mason’s last night in Beacon Hills. Mason is delighted, speaking animatedly to anyone who will pay him attention, while the rest of them watch with varying degrees of envy or concern. Inevitably through the course of the night, Stiles and Mr. Raeken cross paths and he is drawn into a conversation he’d rather avoid.

 

“How did you find Hunsford?” Mr. Raeken asks.

 

“I found it very well,” Stiles answers. “I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a cousin of Mr. Hale’s, a gentleman called Mr. Deaton, and I dined with him, Mr. Hale, and Lord Peter at Rosings on several occasions.”

 

Stiles watches Mr. Raeken at the mention of Mr. Hale, observing him as he moves rapidly between surprise, displeasure, and alarm before settling back into a smile that Stiles no longer finds charming or worthy of trust. If he's to be honest, it makes his skin crawl.

 

“I’ve met Mr. Deaton before. He’s the epitome of a gentleman,” Mr. Raeken comments. “Did you like him?”

 

“I liked him very much,” Stiles confirms.

 

“How long did he stay at Rosings?” Mr. Raeken asks. 

 

“Oh, about three weeks,” Stiles says.

 

“And you saw him frequently?” Mr. Raeken asks, and somehow Stiles gets the impression it’s no longer just Mr. Deaton they’re speaking of.

 

“Almost every day,” Stiles replies, enjoying watching Mr. Raeken squirm.

 

“He is very different from his cousin, is he not?” Mr. Raeken asks, a hint of desperation in his tone.

 

“Indeed,” Stiles agrees with a sly smile. “Though I believe Mr. Hale improves upon further acquaintance.”

 

“I can’t imagine how,” Mr. Raeken says sourly. “He can’t have reinvented himself that quickly.”

 

“No,” Stiles’s smile widens at Mr. Raeken’s outrage. “At his core, I believe he is much the same. I only meant that knowing him better allows for a fuller understanding of his disposition.”

 

Mr. Raeken flushes with what Stiles can only guess is agitation and embarrassment, staring at Stiles silently for a moment before continuing in a hushed voice.

 

“You know of how he treated me, of my feelings toward him,” Mr. Raeken says. “I can only believe that you have been deceived by a change in his demeanor due to his pathological need to impress his family. It is a deep desire of his that his uncle think well of him since he wishes to move forward with a match with Lord Peter’s daughter.”

 

Stiles does his level best not to laugh at the absurdity of Mr. Raeken’s claim. He can also tell that Mr. Raeken is itching to revisit his grievances against Mr. Hale, but Stiles is in no mood to suffer him, bidding him goodnight and returning to Allison’s side for the remainder of the party.

 

“I see Mr. Raeken was eager to speak with you,” Allison says casually as they watch Liam sulking in a corner while Mason plays cards  _ loudly _ with several officers.

 

“Eager to slander Mr. Hale further,” Stiles says. “He’s obsessed.”

 

“And you aren’t?” Allison fires back, grinning wide when Stiles pretends to be offended. “What do you think of Mr. Raeken now?”

 

“He’s a fraud,” Stiles condemns him. “And I am disinclined to continue any acquaintance with such a man.”

 

When the party ends, they send Mason off with Colonel Finstock and his mate. Stiles hopes his father’s prediction bears out and that Mason will learn about the world and how it treats adults the hard way. He hopes that Mason gains an understanding that just because he’s popular to captive audiences, it doesn’t necessarily mean that he will continue to enjoy it outside of childhood. 

 

His own good sense, however, leads him to suspect they will all suffer for this particular indulgence. It’s not a matter of  _ if _ , but  _ when _ .

~*~  
  


With Mason gone, the house is almost too calm and quiet. Malia even comes out to sit with the family in the daytime, a startling change from her normal disappearing act. Stiles, though, feels far too consumed with his own thoughts. He’s restless and in need of something he cannot yet define. The answer comes to him in the form of a letter from their aunt and uncle, inviting him to go on a tour of the northern counties with them. He readily accepts and leaves a few weeks late in early summer with the promise to write to Allison often. 

 

His aunt had grown up in the north and tells him all about the land and the people as his uncle drives the cart. Their journey will bring them as far as the Preserve, and Stiles’s mind immediately connects the Preserve to Pemberley and Mr. Hale. Surely Stiles will be able to travel through the county without the notice of its warden, though.

 

As they travel, visiting monuments, natural sights, and great houses, Stiles begins to feel more and more relaxed. Getting away from home seems to be agreeing with him. He misses his father, but he feels Allison’s absence the most and writes to her often. She writes back, letting him know that everything is fine at home and puts his mind at ease about how they’re all getting on without him, reminding him that their father somehow managed to keep order without the two of them on his own very recently. He has to admit that she has a point, and writes back, telling her of their latest adventure and where they’re going to be staying on their next stop.

 

Stiles discovers, much to his surprise, that the next town they’re to visit is the town where his aunt grew up. Even more surprising is its close proximity to Pemberley.

 

“Oh, it’s only five miles away!” his aunt declares. “We must visit.”

 

“How it is different from any of the other great houses we’ve seen?” Stiles asks with no small amount of anxiety twisting in his gut. 

 

“This one has the most beautiful grounds you’ve ever seen,” his aunt replies.

 

“This is true,” his uncle agrees. “And besides, I figured you’d want to see, having met so many who had connections to the estate.”

 

This is exactly what Stiles is concerned with, and he feels he has no business at Pemberley.

 

“But it’s Mr. Hale’s home,” he protests weakly. Even  _ he  _ can hear it.

 

“What do you have against that?” his uncle asks, a curious look upon his face. His uncle resembles John Stilinski so much in that moment that Stiles feels a little homesick.

 

“He’s just… He’s so…,” Stiles is lost for words.

 

“He’s so what?” his aunt asks, eyes mirthful as he struggles.

 

“He’s so rich,” is what comes out of his mouth.

 

“I never figured you a snob,” his uncle chuckles. 

 

“Oh, the poor man can’t help it that he’s rich, Stiles,” his aunt says kindly. 

 

“If you’re worried about running into him, don’t,” his uncle advises. “These great men are never at home, you know.”

 

“I suppose,” Stiles says.

 

“So it’s settled?” his aunt asks.

 

“You cannot disappoint your aunt, Stiles,” his uncle says with a smile. They’ve already won.

 

“Very well,” Stiles relents. “We shall visit tomorrow.”

 

His aunt and uncle are delighted and it makes Stiles feel good, even if it increases his risk of encountering Mr. Hale. As the night progresses, Stiles finds his curiosity growing regarding Mr. Hale’s home, and when morning comes he’s mentally prepared to step foot on the estate.

 

~*~

 

The cart ride is pleasant. The morning is soft and warm, and the sun has just risen above the horizon. When they enter the woods around Pemberley, Stiles tries to keep from appearing too excited, but his eyes are trained ahead, scanning the trees for signs of the house. The park is very large and perfectly kept, the woods are beautiful, and Stiles can’t help but be impressed by the tree-covered drive, branches intertwining to form an arch that filters golden sunlight through its leaves. 

 

They finally break through the trees and the house becomes instantly visible. It is an expansive, handsome stone building, standing on a swell of ground and surrounded by more of the same woods. There is a pond with a fountain in the center, framed perfectly in the distance by a grand staircase. 

 

Stiles wants to find everything ostentatious, tasteless, and ridiculous, indicative of a family, an alpha, that has more money than sense, but he cannot. Everything that meets his eyes pleases him, and what’s more is that the house appears to be perfectly at one with the nature that surrounds and protects it. Stiles cannot help but be impressed.

 

They arrive at the door moments later, and Stiles is still in awe of the sheer size of the building. They are guided into the hall to await the housekeeper who is to give them a tour, and Stiles takes a moment to wonder at how the wealthy live, how Mr. Hale lives. No wonder he’d felt so conflicted. 

 

The housekeeper is an older beta whose warm demeanor reminds Stiles of his mother before she died. She shows them through a very large dining room with floor to ceiling windows, a large and heavy-looking table, and several beautiful paintings on the wall. Every room they see is large and handsomely furnished. Stiles finds himself rather unconsciously admiring the simple and elegant taste of Mr. Hale, for with his fortune he could do as he pleases, yet he’s chosen nothing gaudy or tasteless. 

 

He begins to wonder if he would have been happy here, had he accepted Mr. Hale, and he decides he could have, but he puts it from his mind before anything resembling regret can set in. 

 

“Is your master at home?” his uncle asks and Stiles feels his heart skip a beat.

 

“We are expecting him to arrive tomorrow from the city with a large party,” the housekeeper answers and Stiles relaxes. 

 

They stop in front of a very fine painting that has Stiles staring. He cannot believe that right in front of him is a painting of Mr. Hale, stood regally next to a beautiful black horse. 

 

“That’s Mr. Hale,” the housekeeper says.

 

“I’ve heard much of your master. What a handsome face!” his aunt declares and then turns to Stiles. “Is it anything like him?” 

 

“Do you know Mr. Hale?” the housekeeper asks.

 

“Only a little,” he admits, noting how the artist managed to get the perfect line of Mr. Hale’s nose and the heaviness of his brow without it overpowering the painting.

 

“Do you not think him handsome?” the housekeeper asks with a fond tone.

 

“Yes,” Stiles says. “I daresay he is.”

 

“And this is Miss Hale,” the housekeeper says, drawing the attention of all but Stiles, leaving him to stare at the likeness of the alpha who offered him his hand, the alpha he refused. 

 

“Stiles!” his aunt hisses from half a room away. “Come along.”

 

Stiles jerks from his thoughts and catches up to them in time to hear his uncle ask after Mr. Hale’s intentions to settle down with a mate.

 

“If he were to mate, you might see more of him,” his uncle says when the housekeeper mentions how much Mr. Hale loves Pemberley.

 

“I would think so, but I do not know when that will be,” the housekeeper says. “I do not know if there is anyone worthy of him.”

 

“It is very much to his credit that you think so,” his aunt says.

 

“I have never known a kinder employer than Mr. Hale,” the housekeeper says. “I have known him since he was a pup, and I watched him grow before my very eyes into an alpha his parents would be very proud of were they alive today. He is most generous and caring, and he is dedicated to continuing the work of his alpha mother and his father.”

 

Stiles is speechless and wants to hear more. To have the account of someone who thinks so highly of Mr. Hale, who works for him and has known him for so long, it is a gift. The housekeeper ends her praise of Mr. Hale by declaring that there is nothing in the world he would not do for his sister, an admirable trait that Stiles knows intimately and shares with Mr. Hale.

 

As their tour draws to a close, Stiles is surprised to feel a more gentle sensation toward Mr. Hale than he previously thought possible. To have the commendation of his housekeeper as a brother, a landlord, and a master, to hear and see with his own eyes how many people had been made happy under his guardianship, the evidence is too great to continue to hold Mr. Hale in an unfavorable light. He could be cruel and capricious and selfish, but he isn’t. He was just a young man who had to grow up too fast while dealing with tragedy of unimaginable proportion. He became alpha of a broken pack overnight and rose to the occasion in the only way he could. 

 

He’s so lost in thought, in overcoming his own prejudice against Mr. Hale, that he’s utterly surprised when the alpha suddenly appears on the road, heading directly for them. Stiles glances up and finds himself caught in Mr. Hale’s gaze. It’s only his rotten luck that he feels himself flush at the look. He’s afraid at first of Mr. Hale being angry at his presence, and the impropriety of it crosses his mind, but as he draws nearer, Stiles notices all of his hard edges have softened and he looks nothing but relaxed. 

 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Mr. Hale says in greeting. 

 

“We thought you were in the city,” Stiles says, unsure of himself.

 

“No, I’m not,” Mr. Hale says. “I came back a day early.”

 

“If we had known, we would not have come,” Stiles says placatingly, but realizes quickly that Mr. Hale does not appear to be bothered at their being there.

 

“It’s quite alright,” he assures Stiles with another soft look. “Are you having a pleasant trip?”

 

“Very pleasant,” Stiles answers, feeling incredibly awkward. “I’m sorry. They said the house was open for visitors.”

 

“Stiles, are you going to introduce us or not?” his aunt elbows him, breaking both of them out of their own little world.

 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Stiles apologizes now to his aunt. 

 

He introduces his aunt and uncle to Mr. Hale, who greets them with a smile and a bow of his head, taking Stiles by surprise yet again. Stiles is struck with awe at the civility and gentleness in his manner. That he should speak to him at all is miraculous, but to be so accommodating to his aunt and uncle as well simply stuns him into near speechlessness. He wonders if his reproval of Mr. Hale at Hunsford might have spurred this great change, but dismisses it. There is no way that Mr. Hale still loves him. This must be the strength of his own character.

 

They speak for a few moments, Mr. Hale engaging Stiles’s aunt and uncle in conversation, Stiles barely paying any attention to what is being said, lost in his own thoughts, until everyone turns to look at him expectantly.

 

“Mr. Hale has just invited us to dine with him tomorrow evening,” his aunt repeats for his benefit. 

 

“Here?” Stiles asks.

 

“Yes,” Mr. Hale answers. “My pack is arriving tomorrow, including Mr. McCall. I am certain they would be delighted to see you again.”

 

Stiles isn’t so sure about that, but he nods anyway.

 

“And there is one other person in particular who wishes to meet you,” Mr. Hale says. “It would please my sister greatly if you would agree to dine with us.”

 

“We’d be honored,” Stiles’s uncle answers for him. “Right, Stiles?”

 

“Yes, of course,” he answers finally, seeing the relief in Mr. Hale’s eyes at his verbal reply. 

 

Mr. Hale sees them to their carriage after that, handing Stiles’s aunt and then Stiles into the carriage. Stiles feels it again, that vibrating, sparking feeling where they touch, but unlike the first time, neither of them appear surprised by it. His uncle climbs up to drive and as they pull away, Stiles watches Mr. Hale slowly make his way back into the house. 

 

When they arrive at the inn, his aunt and uncle begin excitedly talking about Mr. Hale while Stiles stews in his own thoughts. 

 

“What a gentleman!” his aunt declares. 

 

“He is very well behaved and so polite,” his uncle agrees.

 

“There is definitely something stately about him, something very dignified,” his aunt says. “But I did not find it unbecoming at all. How in the world did you ever find him disagreeable?” she asks Stiles. 

 

All he can do is shrug while he admits to himself how completely and totally he’s misjudged Mr. Hale’s character. 

  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has occurred to me off and on that my choice in using Theo as Mr. Wickham has pitted two characters against each other that have never shared screen time. Is that weird? It seems a bit weird. It's like, there's the Derek Hale era of TW, and then there's the shit that came after.
> 
> Also, in case anyone was interested, Colonel Finstock's mate is Greenberg. 
> 
> And I haven't figured out how far Pemberley is from Beacon Hills. For the sake of the story, we'll pretend the locations are close-ish.

Stiles is still reluctant to go to dinner, but recalling the look of relief on Mr. Hale’s face gives him strength. He can only wonder at what will be thought of his appearance at Pemberley, especially in the case of Miss Martin. He’d suspected her of desiring Mr. Hale’s favor early on in their acquaintance and that her rather false like of him derived from some sort of jealousy. For what in particular, he couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps it was Mr. Hale’s willingness to go toe to toe with him that elicited that particular feeling. In any case, he is a little curious to see if she'll maintain her unique brand of hostile civility. 

 

When they reach the house, Stiles is just as in awe as he had been the previous afternoon. A butler greets them and leads them through the house again to a sitting room where they are introduced to Mr. Hale and Miss Hale. 

 

Mr. Hale bows his head in greeting, and then dismisses the butler. He then guides his sister forward to greet them.

 

“This is my sister, Miss Cora Hale,” Mr. Hale says as he introduces them. 

 

Cora is beautiful. There is something regal in her countenance and she bears herself with such dignity that Stiles feels he’s in the presence of a queen. Her long, dark hair is shiny and free about her shoulders, and her eyes are sharp and intelligent, though quite a bit darker than Mr. Hale’s-- a lovely honey brown where Mr. Hale’s are an indescribable mixture of green, blue, and gold.

 

“My brother has told me so much about you,” Cora says with a smile. “I feel as though we’re friends already.”

 

Stiles smiles at her and glances to Mr. Hale, who is looking at his sister with such fondness that it makes Stiles’s heart feel funny. They converse briefly, getting pleasantries out of the way, before they follow Mr. Hale into a salon where the remainder of his guests await. Upon entering, it is more than clear that not all in attendance knew of Stiles and his aunt and uncle joining them. 

 

Mr. Boyd and Miss Reyes rise and greet them, expressing happiness at seeing Stiles again. Mr. Lahey looks to Miss Hale first, and raises an eyebrow at Stiles, but otherwise does not seem to mind. Miss Martin’s eyes narrow and her lips thin as she scrutinizes him, his aunt, and his uncle rapidly before flicking her green gaze to Mr. Hale, who doesn’t appear to notice. 

 

Mr. McCall is by far the most animated about Stiles’s appearance. He grins wide and moves to embrace Stiles before a look of surprise comes over him and he forcibly stops himself, settling for a firm handshake. Stiles laughs. He can’t help it. Mr. McCall has the social grace of a clumsy puppy and the eyes to match. If he weren’t so helpless, Stiles could feel differently about him. As it stands, he feels a bittersweetness to their meeting, as it should be Allison receiving such a greeting and not Stiles.

 

They all settle in and are served cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, and sweet cakes. Though it is highly informal for Mr. Hale and his pack, it is the most opulent meal Stiles has ever had. He eats far too many cakes and cannot seem to keep himself from the cheeses as he chats with Mr. McCall about anything but Allison. The entire time, he can feel Mr. Hale’s eyes on him, and he is perfectly aware of Miss Martin’s watchful gaze on Mr. Hale. Whatever is going on there, Stiles wants no part of it. 

 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Miss Martin begins, quietly interrupting him and Mr. McCall. “I heard that the militia has moved from Beacon Hills to Beacon Heights. What a great loss that must have been to your family.”

 

Stiles meets her gaze and knows for the first time that evening what she’s about. He knows she dare not utter the name of Theo Raeken, lest she invite Mr. Hale’s wrath, and he finds her mention of the militia to be in poor taste. 

 

“Not at all,” Stiles says blithely, refusing to acknowledge the sudden tension he feels emanating from Mr. Hale. 

 

Stiles knows she’s trying to get him to admit feelings for Mr. Raeken out of some perverse need to remove him as competition, but she couldn’t be further from understanding exactly what it is she is doing. It’s clear to Stiles that she has no knowledge of Mr. Raeken’s transgressions against the Hales, but Stiles will not be the one to educate her. 

 

Stiles disengages her in conversation and then his eyes are drawn to a grand instrument in the corner of the room.

 

“What a beautiful pianoforte,” he says, looking over to Miss Hale.

 

“My brother gave it to me,” Miss Hale preens. “Would you like to play?” 

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Stiles raises his hands in supplication. “Your brother once had to put up with my playing. He can attest that it is not suitable for after dinner entertainment.”

 

“But he said you played so well,” she says.

 

“Then he has perjured himself most heinously,” Stiles says, watching Mr. Hale laugh and smile. The things it does to his heart are unspeakable. 

 

Stiles is well aware of Miss Martin and Mr. McCall’s attention, but he chooses to continue to ignore anyone who isn’t a Hale.

 

“I said  _ quite well _ ,” Mr. Hale corrects her with a kind smile, eyes equally full of fondness.

 

“Oh, well, _ quite well _ is not  _ very well,” _ Stiles smiles back. “I am satisfied.”

 

“Do you play duets?” Miss Hale asks.

 

“Only when forced,” Stiles admits.

 

“Then you must force him, brother,” Miss Hale says with a grin.

 

“Oh, I doubt there is anyone on this earth that could force Mr. Stilinski into anything,” Mr. Hale says and Stiles finds his smile permanently fixed. 

 

“I’m sure I could be persuaded,” he says with a wink at Mr. Hale before taking a seat at the pianoforte next to Miss Hale. 

 

He looks at Mr. Hale in time to catch the shocked and perplexed look on his handsome face before his uncle grasps his attention to talk about fishing. 

  
~*~

 

The next morning, Stiles receives two letters from Allison after a long period of nothing. He’s more than a little eager to read them, so he assures his aunt and uncle that he will be perfectly happy passing the morning at the inn while they go and explore the town on their own. With a promise to return in a few hours, they leave him to his letters and set out.

 

The first is dated five days previous, and Stiles wonders at its misdelivery. It begins with details of parties and what little news there was to be had in Beacon Hills, but the second half is dated a day after the first half, and Allison’s writing is faster, more agitated. 

 

_ Since writing the above, something has occurred of the most unexpected and serious nature. I must begin by telling you that we are all well. I know how you worry after me and Papa, but no one is in any mortal danger. What I have to say relates to Mason. _

 

_ An express came at midnight last night from Colonel Finstock, telling us that he’d run off to Beacon Valley with Mr. Raeken. I am willing and hoping that his character has been misunderstood, but I fear the worst. He has been thoughtless and indiscreet, to be sure, and he must know that Papa can give him nothing for Mason.  _

 

Stiles puts her letter down, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before growling low and frustrated. They’d warned their father that something like this would happen. He’d even suspected that Colonel Finstock couldn’t be trusted with Mason’s safety, much less his honor. 

 

Stiles picks up the second letter and braces himself. 

 

_ By this time you’ve received my first letter. I hardly know what to write, but I cannot delay any news reaching you and need to tell you everything.  _

 

_ As imprudent a match between Mason and Mr. Raeken would be, Papa and I are anxious to be assured that a mating has taken place, for there is much reason to suspect that they have not run to Beacon Valley after all, but are instead in the city. It is the Colonel’s deepest fear that it had never been Mr. Raeken’s intention to mate Mason at all. Colonel Finstock has traced them as far as the city, but they are lost to him now.  _

 

_ I am selfish and wish you were here with me. It has been a trial, carrying the weight of this burden without my other half. We need you, Stiles, now more than ever. Please come home quickly. Papa is to go with Colonel Finstock to the city in the morning to see if they can discover them together, but I fear he may not act rationally.  _

 

Stiles has to put this letter down too, drawing in several breaths while he tries to reconcile events at home. He counts back from ten, keeping his breathing even as he does his best not to panic about his father challenging Mr. Raeken to a duel, when a servant opens the door to the suite and Mr. Hale appears.

 

He takes one look at Stiles and immediately softens, brows drawn in concern and attention fixed on Stiles. 

 

“I beg your pardon, but I must find my aunt and uncle,” Stiles says, voice rough from holding everything back. 

 

“I’ll go find them,” Mr. Hale offers. “Or let the servant. You do not look well; you cannot go.”

 

“I’m fine,” Stiles insists, but sways when he stands.

 

Mr. Hale catches him easily and helps him back down into his seat, his hands warm and strong and helping center Stiles more than he'd like to admit.

 

Mr. Hale raises an eyebrow at him as if to say  _ see?  _

 

“Very well,” Stiles agrees, wiping a hand over his face while Mr. Hale sends a servant to fetch Stiles’s relatives.

 

“Here,” Mr. Hale’s voice is low and soft as he presses a glass of water into Stiles’s hand. “This will help.”

 

Stiles takes a drink, closing his eyes and just breathing for a moment. 

 

“Is there anything else I can do?” Mr. Hale offers, and Stiles would laugh if he could at how helpful Mr. Hale is being, an alpha he had previously thought incapable of selflessness. 

 

“No, but thank you,” Stiles says, putting the glass down on a nearby table. 

 

“Are you alright?” Mr. Hale asks.

 

“There is nothing the matter with me,” Stiles assures him. “I am fine, only distressed by some horrible news from home.”

 

“I don’t expect you to nor do I claim any right to know, but if it would help ease your burden, you are safe to share it with me,” Mr. Hale says as he sits close to Stiles.

 

Stiles watches him with new eyes. The concern, the honesty in his eyes and in his voice move Stiles, and he finds the words spilling from his mouth.

 

“My sister wrote to me,” he motions to the letters on the table. “I think I can say without exaggeration that the news she gave me cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger brother, Mason, has eloped and thrown himself at the mercy of Mr. Raeken. They’ve run off to the city, or so Colonel Finstock believes. You know him too well to doubt anything else, and I fear without money or connections to tempt him, Mason is lost forever.”

 

Mr. Hale pales at his words, eyes flashing red at the mention of Mr. Raeken.

 

“And when I think that I could have prevented it had I exposed him for what he was, but I couldn’t,” Stiles says, voice cracking a bit at the sadness of the whole thing. They’re all ruined now. Now there is no way Mr. McCall or anyone of his caliber would ever settle for Allison, and no way Mr. Hale could see him in the same light as he had at Rosings. And Stiles’s heart breaks for them, every one of them. He looks right into Mr. Hale’s beautiful eyes, eyes that he can finally see a future in now that it's lost, and says, “I couldn’t do that to you.” 

 

“I wouldn’t have blamed you,” Mr. Hale says softly. 

 

“But I would have,” Stiles says, seeming to break the moment when he can no longer bear to look directly at Mr. Hale.

 

“Is it certain? That your brother has eloped?” Mr. Hale asks, voice taking on a steely edge. 

 

Stiles nods.

 

“Has anything been done to recover him?”

 

“My father has gone to the city with Colonel Finstock,” Stiles answers. “Allison has begged me to come home. It’s likely that she hopes our uncle will assist in the search, but nothing can be done. I know nothing can be done. If they have not been discovered yet, I fear they never will.”

 

He feels the full effect of his brother’s disgrace then,  _ his _ disgrace now too, and knows how he must have fallen in Mr. Hale’s eyes. And what horrible timing, as now Stiles realizes, with Mr. Hale being so gentle and attentive, and the past few days of conversation, he could have loved him. Mr. Hale has been the only alpha Stiles has ever met that suited him. But now it’s lost to him forever. 

 

“I fear I’ve imposed myself upon you for far longer than you wanted,” Mr. Hale says a moment later, standing rigidly, like he’s ready for a fight and viciously holding back his shift. 

 

Stiles does nothing to stop him from leaving. He has no right and wouldn’t even know how to begin. It’s more likely that Mr. Hale no longer wants to be in his presence, so he lets him leave, thanking him for his promise to keep his shame a secret for now. 

 

He sits alone with his thoughts until his aunt and uncle return. They agree to leave at once when he tells them Allison’s news, and they are quit of the Preserve that night, destined for Beacon Hills.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

Stiles finds it difficult to believe that Mr. Raeken would take as a mate a boy who could bring no money, nor does he believe Mason would agree to an elopement without the intention of mating. But he had not previously been capable of believing Mason had more than a fleeting attraction to anyone. His uncle hopes for the best, but has his reservations. He points out that eloping without the intent to mate would ruin Mr. Raeken’s military career, but Stiles isn’t convinced that would be enough to persuade Mr. Raeken into mating his brother. He retains his opinion that Mr. Raeken would never take a mate without money. 

 

They arrive in Beacon Hills the next day. Stiles is exhausted, as are his aunt and uncle, but they greet Allison, Liam, and Malia with smiles and warm hugs. Allison herds them into the dining room and makes them eat a light meal, and Stiles can practically see the anxiety around her. 

 

“Any word?” Stiles asks as he finally finishes his meal.

 

“None yet,” Allison answers before turning to their uncle. “Papa left for the city two days ago. He’s written to let us know he arrived safely and that he will only write again once he has found Mason.”

 

“How are you holding up?” Stiles asks. 

 

“I’ll survive,” Allison says with a wry twist to her mouth.

 

“I intend to join your father in the city tomorrow,” their uncle announces. “Do not give up hope just yet,” he says, clasping them both on the shoulder. “So long as we do not have news of them not mating and not intending to mate, then all is not lost.”

 

“Thank you,” Allison says with a watery smile. 

 

~*~

 

Their uncle leaves the next morning, and all that is left to do is wait. 

 

Less than a week later, their father comes home, dejected and without Mason. He’s as approachable as a storm cloud for a few days, and Stiles and Allison give him his space. They’re both relieved to have him safe and home, but still worry about their uncle who continues the search. 

 

Stiles forces his way into his father’s study one evening after deciding he’s had enough time to himself. 

 

John sighs heavily as Stiles gets comfortable in an arm chair. 

 

“Not to disparage your siblings, but I honestly thought if anyone ran away it'd be Malia or Liam,” John confides in Stiles. “Malia has always been slightly feral, and Liam is utterly besotted with that Romero girl. I figured I'd wake up one day to find he'd taken to sleeping on their stoop.”

 

“I'm as surprised as you are,” Stiles admits. “That Mason felt attraction to Raeken is baffling enough, but that Raeken returned his feelings was beyond foresight.”

 

“I'm fairly certain feelings have little to do with Mr. Raeken eloping with Mason,” John grunts. 

 

“Well, if it's income he's after, he's barking up the wrong tree,” Stiles snorts.

 

“I'm afraid Mason, as much as it pains me to say, has ruined us,” John sighs. “I did my best to protect all of you from the world and the harshness of it. Maybe I did too much.”

 

“You do not think they will be discovered,” Stiles infers. 

 

“No,” John shakes his head. “We'd have found them already. I am truly sorry. You and your siblings will have to pay the price for Mason’s indiscretion, and there's nothing I can do to shield you from this.”

 

“We'll be alright, Papa,” Stiles reaches out to squeeze his father's hand. “We're tough, and Malia doesn't give a shit anyhow.”

 

“Language, son,” John warns fondly.

 

“You're stuck with me until one of us dies and you know it,” Stiles smiles. “I daresay worrying about my filthy mouth or lack of concern for propriety with my own father at this point is moot.”

 

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” John says, taking a serious turn as Stiles rises, claiming a need to get ready for bed.

 

“Fortunately for you, you'll never have to find out,” he says, bending to kiss his father on the top of the head. “Go to bed soon. We've all got long days ahead of us.”

 

~*~

 

They receive a letter from their uncle the next day.

 

“What does it say?” Allison asks as she, Liam, and even Malia watch Stiles read it.

 

“He’s found them,” Stiles says. 

 

“Are they mated?” Allison asks.

 

“They will be, if father settles on five thousand for her inheritance, one hundred a year, and clears all of his debts here in Beacon Hills,” Stiles says.

 

“Then that’s what I must do,” John says. “Who knows how much my brother must have offered that wretch.”

 

“What do you mean?” Allison asks as everyone turns to their father.

 

“No one would mate Mason for so slight a temptation as one hundred a year,” John says. “My brother must have been very generous. Raeken would be a fool to settle for less than a thousand a year.”

 

“A thousand!” Stiles gasps. “How can we ever repay that?”

 

“I have no idea,” John sighs and then leaves them for his study. 

 

“Do you really think our uncle paid Mr. Raeken that much?” Allison asks.

 

“If Papa thinks he has, then I have no reason to suspect otherwise,” Stiles says. 

 

“We’ll have to forget all that he has done, everything we know that has degraded his character,” Allison says. “It’s the only way we’ll be able to live with it.”

 

“You may, if that is what you wish,” Stiles sniffs haughtily. “But I will not.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Allison says and leaves the room.

 

“So Mason’s getting mated?” Malia asks with a slightly disgusted look on her face.

 

“He has to,” Stiles says.

 

“But he’s only sixteen,” she points out.

 

“Princes and princesses mate younger than that,” Stiles returns.

 

“That’s gross,” Malia wrinkles her nose. Stiles doesn't disagree. “Will Liam and I have to get mated now too?”

 

“Only if you want to,” Stiles says with a heavy sigh. He feels tired down to his bones. Not a year ago, both he and Allison had the chance to make matches with distinguished alphas, but now only Mason is the one with a match, and a poor one at that. No one will want to be connected with their family now.

 

“I--I might… get mated,” Liam says hesitantly, breaking Stiles from his thoughts.

 

“You what?” Stiles asks, not quite catching his brother’s words.

 

“I might get mated,” Liam repeats, a little more sure of himself.

 

“With Miss Romero?” Stiles asks.

 

“I think she likes me,” Liam blushes, and Stiles smiles. Liam has always been quiet, stuck in Mason’s shadow. Maybe without Mason around, Liam will come into his own. 

 

“She’d be a fool not to,” Stiles ruffles Liam’s hair and draws him into a hug. 

 

At least Liam will be alright. 

  
~*~

 

The day of the wedding arrives with ample sunshine. Stiles thinks poorly of himself that he’d wished for rain. They’re expecting Mr. Raeken and Mason for an early dinner, due to arrive any moment, and Stiles is keenly aware of Allison’s dark mood. Mason can be thoughtless at the best of times, and there’s no doubt in Stiles’s mind that he’ll throw around his new mate, regardless of how it may hurt his siblings. 

 

When they finally arrive, Mason’s voice can be heard from outside the house, such is his excitement. They’re received and shown into the sitting room where Mason is all smiles as he greets them all before sitting next to Liam and Malia, telling them everything that comes to his mind. Mr. Raeken moves to shake their father’s hand, but John, for his part, glares at Mr. Raeken until the beta is cowed enough to step away from him. He never even has to show his alpha red eyes. Stiles can’t help the smug feeling rising within him. 

 

“We passed Hayden Romero in her carriage on the way here,” Mason gloats. “I turned my head and loosened my collar so that she could see the bite,” he says, showing them his scar. “You must all go to Beacon Heights. That is the place to get mates! I only hope that you have half of my good luck.”

 

He turns his bright eyes on Raeken then, and Stiles and Allison follow his gaze before glancing at each other with half-disgusted looks that neither of them are capable of concealing. 

 

“So, you’re joining the regular army, I understand,” their father says to Mr. Raeken. 

 

“Yes, I’m enlisted in a regiment in the north,” Raeken replies.

 

Stiles feels a hint of relief. At least they won’t be around to remind everyone of their shame. 

 

They all go to dinner after that and Stiles cannot for the life of him figure out how it is he’s gotten stuck sitting next to Mason. 

 

“I cannot believe I have been gone so long from home,” Mason sighs. “It seems only yesterday I was begging father to go.”

 

“Yes, none of us are regretting that decision,” Stiles mutters under his breath.

 

“Monday morning came, and I was so anxious,” Mason giggles and Stiles groans. “I was so afraid that something would happen to put the wedding off.”

 

“I’m sure too little cannot be said on this subject,” Stiles says, but Mason ignores him.

 

“Our aunt was preaching away at me, like it was some horrible sermon,” Mason says with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Can’t you understand why?” Stiles implores to no avail.

 

“But I didn’t care, because I was thinking of my dear Theo,” Mason gives Raeken a cow-eyed look from across the table. 

 

The look Mr. Raeken gives him back is tight and confirms every one of Stiles’s suspicions that Mason is far more attached than Raeken.

 

“I had so hoped that he would be mated in that dashing blue coat of his,” Mason continues. “And then our uncle was called away on some business, so I was concerned that if he wasn’t there to give me away we might not be mated that day at all. But luckily Mr. Hale was there. He would have done the job just as well.”

 

“Mr. Hale!” Stiles whispers his name in surprise, giving Mason his full attention.

 

“I forgot!” Mason’s eyes go wide. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

 

“Mr. Hale was there?” Stiles demands to know.

 

Mason leans in, making sure no one else is paying them any attention before whispering, “He was the one who discovered us.” He looks around again. “He paid for the wedding, Mr. Raeken’s commission, everything. But he told me not to tell.”

 

“Mr. Hale?” Stiles blinks as he tries to process everything.

 

“Oh, stop it,” Mason waves him off. “Mr. Hale’s not half as high and mighty as  _ you _ sometimes.”

 

With that, the conversation appears to be over, and Stiles is left with even more bafflement to add to the maelstrom of emotions and thoughts where Mr. Hale is concerned.

 

After dinner, Mason and Mr. Raeken get back into their carriage to head north to Mr. Raeken’s new army assignment. As Mason waves goodbye, Liam asks him to write.

 

“Mated betas never have much time for writing,” Mason sighs happily as the horses are urged forward. “But my siblings may write to me as often as they like, for they’ll have nothing else to do!”

 

For the sake of their family, and for just desserts, Stiles hopes he falls out of the carriage. 

  
  


 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another proposal!

Without Mason around to inform them of the town gossip, it’s several days after the fact that they find out Mr. McCall has taken up at Netherfield again. They’re in town, looking at hats and waistcoats, when Hayden Romero approaches them.

 

“Hello, Liam,” she smiles and ducks her head a little.

 

“Hello, Hayden--Miss Romero!” he corrects himself quickly.

 

They both blush, and Stiles finds himself hopeful for the first time in almost a year. He exchanges looks with Allison, confirming that she thinks they're just as adorable as he does.

 

“How are you doing today?” Liam asks, slightly awkward.

 

“Very well, thank you,” she replies. “And you?”

 

“Very well,” he smiles back.

 

“Have you heard the news?” she asks, glancing around the group, eyes lingering on Allison before moving back to Liam. “Mr. McCall is back at Netherfield.”

 

“How nice for him,” Malia says dryly.

 

“When did he arrive?” Stiles asks and Allison cuts him a sharp look.

 

“I think he’s been back three or four days,” Miss Romero says. “And he’s alone. His pack has stayed in the city.”

 

“You’re certain he’s back?” Liam asks.  

 

Miss Romero nods her head vigorously and tells them about the meat order from the butcher just yesterday.

 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks as soon as he can get Allison away from the group.

 

“I’m perfectly fine,” Allison says. “I’m just glad he’s alone. We’ll see less of him that way.”

 

“Ally--”

 

“No, Stiles,” she stops him. “It’s not that I’m afraid to see him--I'm not. I just dread what other people might say. We've all been through enough as it is.”

 

She turns quickly and walks away, heading toward the house, and Stiles lets her go. For the first time in his life, he can’t help her. He had suspected during his visit at Pemberley that Mr. McCall still had feelings for Allison. The question on Stiles’s mind is, did he come back to Beacon Hills with Mr. Hale’s blessing, or was he bold enough to come without it.

 

~*~

 

No one is paying any mind to the window when it finally happens.

 

“Who's that riding up to the house?” John asks from his chair, getting Stiles’s attention.

 

Stiles leans closer to the window and squints, trying to make out the riders. It takes a few long seconds, but he finally recognizes the two forms.

 

“Holy shit,” he swears, ignoring his father scolding his words. “It's Mr. McCall and Mr. Hale.”

 

“McCall  _ and _ Hale?” John repeats, eyebrows rising to his hairline. “Well, McCall did just move back into Netherfield.”

 

“No, I don't think that's what this is,” Stiles says, shaking his head minutely as Mr. Hale and Mr. McCall ride closer, breaking from canter to trot. “I'd better warn Allison.”

 

“Allison--you think--” he cuts himself off, surprise written all over his face as Stiles turns to him. 

 

“I do,” Stiles says, a smile dawning on his own face. 

 

“Then you'd better find her quick,” John nods and Stiles all but runs from the study to find his sister.

 

He finds her not a moment too soon and drags her to the sitting room. 

 

“What is this about, Stiles?” she demands as he pinches her cheeks and brushes away stray hairs from her face.

 

“Do not be alarmed,” he begins, smoothing her dress and getting rid of her apron. “Mr. McCall and Mr. Hale are coming.”

 

“Here?” she asks, eyes wide as Malia and Liam begin to hurriedly right the room. 

 

“Yes,” he says.

 

“When?” she asks.

 

“Now,” he says, hearing footsteps in the hallway.  “You’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

He kisses her cheek and they all sit in time for the door to open, the servant ushering them in. They rise again in greeting. Mr. McCall looks healthy and just as dashing as ever, while Mr. Hale looks far too serious for his young age, but beautiful, so, so beautiful that it hurts.

 

“Good day, Mr. Stilinski, Miss Argent,” Mr. McCall says, bowing his head to each before greeting Malia and Liam as well. 

 

“Mr. McCall, Mr. Hale,” Stiles returns with his own nod as Allison all but freezes in their presence. “It's been some time since you've come to Beacon Hills. We're pleased to have you back in the neighborhood.”

 

“I am happy to be here,” Mr. McCall says with a smile, cheeks pinking ever so slightly as his eyes dart to Allison.

 

“Are you planning on staying long?” Stiles inquires and Allison grips his hand tightly. Stiles watches Mr. Hale take notice, but Mr. McCall only has eyes for Allison.

 

“Yes, for as long as I can,” Mr. McCall replies.

 

Mr. Hale coughs behind Mr. McCall and Mr. McCall startles a bit at the sound, like he'd forgotten Mr. Hale was there. 

 

“Might I ask, if I could,” Mr. McCall begins haltingly, seeing nervous and unsure of himself suddenly. “Pardon me,” he bows stiffly and flees the room.

 

Mr. Hale stands there for a moment, sighs through his nose, and takes his leave, bowing his head and following Mr. McCall from the parlor.

 

“Well, that was weird,” Malia snorts from her corner. 

 

Stiles rolls his eyes at their sister and then turns to Allison, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

 

“I'm alright,” she says quickly, voice tight. Stiles gives her a look. “No, really! I'm fine.”

 

“Are you sure you're not disappointed?” Stiles asks.

 

“It's not like I was expecting him to waltz in here a few days after moving back into Netherfield and ask me to marry him,” Allison tries to laugh it off.

 

“Yes, you were,” Stiles says softly. “We all were.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry that he brought Mr. Hale,” Allison says, turning the conversation to him.

 

“No, don’t say that,” Stiles says.

 

“Why not?” Allison asks.

 

“Ally,” he begins softly, giving her a look that has her eyes widening in realization. “I’ve been so blind.”

 

“What in the world are they doing?” Malia asks from the window, effectively drawing everyone over to watch. 

 

It's an odd sight, Stiles admits. There Mr. Hale is, standing under a large tree while Mr. McCall paces quickly. Mr. McCall seems agitated, restless, nervous, while Mr. Hale is calmly tolerating his friend's anxiousness. 

 

“I've no idea,” Stiles says. 

 

It's not a second later that Mr. McCall turns sharply and marches determinedly back into the manor.

 

“Everyone behave normally,” Stiles warns and rushes everyone back to their seats just a Mr. McCall blows back into the room.

 

They all stand to greet him again, but he's only got eyes for Allison.

 

“May I have a word with Miss Argent?” Mr. McCall requests. “Alone?”

 

Malia and Liam waste no time leaving the room. Stiles takes a moment to give Allison a kiss on the cheek before leaving and closing the door behind himself. 

 

He wanders back to his father's study to find John smiling softly to himself.

 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Stiles says.

 

“Hmm,” John grunts. “I was just thinking about your mother. She's been in my thoughts a lot lately, especially with everything that's been happening.”

 

“And?” Stiles asks as he takes a seat across from his father, watching as the man seems more at peace than he has in a while now. 

 

“I was thinking she'd have handled all of you better than I have, but that she'd be so proud of you and Allison,” John says, eyes going misty. “And she'd be overjoyed at having Mr. McCall as a son. He's a fine young man.”

 

“He'll be good to Ally,” Stiles agrees. “He'll make her happy, keep her safe, care for her. I doubt she'll ever want for anything.”

 

“I dare say, I agree,” John says. “He was so nervous when he asked for my consent. I thought he might not ever get the words out.”

 

“Yes,” Stiles laughs softly. “I myself was concerned he might never propose to her. He fled the room once and I suspect Mr. Hale was forced to help him rally his courage. We saw them conversing beneath the old tree not five minutes ago. He seemed very determined when he came back.”

 

“Well, if he can't get the job done, Allison will,” John says with a laugh and Stiles could drink to that.

 

~*~

 

“I do not believe I could feel happier than I do right now,” Allison sighs as they fall into their shared bed later that night. 

 

“I am glad for you,” Stiles says, feeling the weight of Allison’s sadness lifted at last. “No one deserves to be happier than you.”

 

“Oh, Stiles,” she turns to face him, a sweet smile on her face, her dimples showing. “I never thought this would happen. I had hoped when I shouldn’t have and let myself be hurt for so long. But he told me he knew he loved me before he left for the city. He said he would have come back to ask for my hand, but he’d been convinced of my indifference. He didn’t even know I was in the city last spring!”

 

“Really?” Stiles asks. He must play his part here. She doesn’t need to know what he knows. 

 

“I suspect Miss Martin withheld that information from him,” she says, tone turning dark. “I had thought us such good friends, but I cannot think of any other way he would have remained ignorant but for her choosing not to tell him.”

 

“He made a mistake,” Stiles says. “But he is here now, and that’s what matters. Miss Martin will have to bear it with as much dignity as she can muster.”

 

“I suppose,” Allison concedes. “I wish that I could see you as happy. If only there was such a match for you.”

 

Stiles mulls it over, tries his best not to, but he cannot help but think of Mr. Hale and how much everything has changed. 

 

“Really, Ally, even if you were to give me forty such mates, I could never be as happy as you,” he says. “My disposition will not allow it.”

 

“Nonsense,” she disagrees. “You could be every bit as happy. I am sure of it.”

 

“Then perhaps Mr. Whittemore has a cousin we don’t know about,” Stiles says with a sly smile.

 

“Bite your tongue!” Allison admonishes, trying not to laugh. “If it is the last thing I do, I will see you happy.”

 

“I am,” Stiles assures her. “I promise.”

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles confront each other.

The next week is spent hosting dinners with Mr. McCall as a guest more often than not. He and Allison are so wrapped up in each other that no one has the heart to try and separate them. As it stands, they wandered off into the garden sometime after breakfast and have yet to emerge. 

 

Stiles is with Liam in the sitting room, deep inside of a book, when a carriage approaches their manor. Liam rises to get a better look, but Stiles can’t be bothered until the door is flung open and Lord Peter steps out.

 

A moment later, he bursts through the door to the sitting room, their father following in his wake. 

 

“Lord Peter,” Stiles greets him with a slight bow, watching his light, piercing eyes look toward Liam and then to their father.

 

“One of your siblings, I presume,” he sneers. “And your father?”

 

“Yes, your lordship,” Stiles responds, noting his father’s pinched look and Liam’s apprehension. 

 

“Can we offer you anything? Some tea, perhaps?” Stiles’s father offers as he attempts to force his way into the room. Stiles feels fondness for his father’s desire to protect them from this alpha, but Stiles knows there’s no interfering with Lord Peter once he’s got his mind set on something. 

 

“I think not,” Lord Peter says sharply. “I need to speak with the young Mr. Stilinski about a matter of great urgency.  _ Alone _ .”

 

John considers him for a moment, the two alphas locking gazes, and Stiles is slightly concerned that his father might challenge Lord Peter. Instead, he backs down after a moment, assuming a more relaxed manner to soothe the titled alpha.

 

“Very well,” John agrees. “Liam, come with me. Stiles, I’ll be in my study.”

 

Stiles nods, watching his brother leave and his father shut the door. Lord Peter wastes no time and rounds on him the moment the door is shut. 

 

“You can be at no loss as to why I am here,” he says.

 

“You are mistaken,” Stiles says, holding himself straight. “I cannot account for this honor at all.”

 

“I am not to be trifled with, omega,” he warns with a flash of red eyes. “A report of the most alarming nature has reached me. I was informed that not only was your sister to be most advantageously mated, but that you intended to be mated to my nephew. I know this cannot be true, however I resolved on setting off for this… place so that I might make my sentiments known to you.”

 

“If your lordship believed it impossible to be true, I wonder why you took the trouble of coming so far,” Stiles says, heart pounding in his chest at his implications.

 

“To hear it contradicted,” Lord Peter snaps. 

 

“You coming here at all will rather seem a confirmation of it, if any such rumor does in fact exist,” Stiles points out, reminding himself to hold his ground as Lord Peter’s eyes flare bright red again.

 

“ _ If _ !” he snarls with glowing eyes. “Do you pretend to be ignorant of it? Has this rumor not been concocted and circulated by yourself?”

 

“I have no knowledge of it,” Stiles insists as calmly as he can. He refuses to lose his temper in front of this man and give him the satisfaction of riling him up.

 

“Can you declare there is no foundation for it?” Lord Peter demands.

 

“I do not pretend to possess equal frankness with your lordship,” Stiles states firmly, angered by his insinuations, but forcing it down. “You may ask questions and I may refuse to answer.”

 

“Your attitude is appalling,” Lord Peter says. Stiles has heard worse. “Has my nephew made you an offer of mating?”

 

“Your lordship has declared it to be impossible,” Stiles throws his own words back at him. 

 

“Rightly so,” Lord Peter says. “While he remains reasonable, he must be made to remember what he owes to his family. He may have had a moment of infatuation, but it is  _ you _ who have drawn him in.”

 

“If indeed I have, I would expect to be the last person to confess it,” Stiles responds, doing his best to maintain his head.

 

“Mr. Stilinski, do you know who I am?” he asks, and Stiles does not think it possible for him to be any more arrogant. “I am the nearest relation he has left in the world, save his sister, and I am entitled to his concerns and his future.”

 

“But you are  _ not _ entitled to mine,” Stiles reminds the alpha firmly. 

 

“I shall make myself understood,” Lord Peter begins. “You and he will never happen. He is intended for my daughter. What do you have to say about that?”

 

“Nothing,” Stiles says. “Except that if that is so, you should have no reason to suspect he would make an offer to me.”

 

“Their mating has been planned since their infancy,” Lord Peter informs him. “It was planned between myself and my sister to strengthen the Hale line. Do you think years of planning can be pushed aside by a young omega of inferior birth, of no fortune, and whose own brother’s elopement resulted in a scandalously patched-up mating only achieved at the expense of your uncle?! Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted by the likes of you and your family?”

 

Stiles is shocked beyond words at his tirade. He’d known Lord Peter thought little of him, much like a child considers an ant, but to hear it straight from his mouth, the mouth of a Lord, he cannot move himself to speak.

 

“Tell me once and for all,” he continues fiercely. “Are you engaged to him?”

 

“I am not,” Stiles answers simply.

 

“And will you promise never to enter into such an engagement?” 

 

As Lord Peter looks at him with a self-satisfied smirk, Stiles finds his footing again.

 

“I will not,” Stiles grits his teeth and continues as Lord Peter opens his mouth to speak. “You have insulted me in every possible manner, and can now have nothing further to say. I must ask you to leave.”

 

Lord Peter looks stunned at his declaration, but Stiles can detect a hint of grudging respect at his dismissal of the alpha Lord. If Lord Peter had been expecting a meek omega, he has been thoroughly proven wrong, but the considering look the alpha is now giving him makes Stiles stand straighter, more resolved than ever to remain unintimidated by anyone, much less Lord Peter Hale. 

 

“Good day,” he says firmly, opening the door to the sitting room for the alpha to leave.

 

“I had hoped to find you reasonable,” Lord Peter glares at him, but Stiles refuses the courtesy of looking his direction. “I have never been thus treated in my entire life. You can be sure of your ruination, Mr. Stilinski. I am not an alpha to be trifled with.”

 

Stiles holds himself rigid as Lord Peter stalks out of the room, declaring Stiles  _ willful _ and  _ headstrong _ and  _ determined to ruin Derek in the eyes of his family and friends _ , but he doesn’t move, doesn’t dare let himself but barely breathe until he can hear the carriage pulling away. It’s barely a minute later that his father is there, gathering him into his arms as his vision narrows and he finds it hard to draw breath.

 

When he finally comes back to himself, John is stroking his hair back and they’re on the divan. 

 

“How much of that did you hear?” Stiles asks, voice a little hoarse.

 

“Enough,” John admits. “You held your ground quite well. I’m proud of you.”

 

“He was rude,” Stiles shrugs a shoulder. “I was not about to let him walk all over me in my own house.”

 

“You are, without a doubt, your mother’s son,” John says with a shine to his eyes. 

 

“Thank you, Papa,” Stiles says, sitting himself upright and letting everything right itself. 

 

“Anything for you,” John says with a kiss to his temple. 

  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

A few nights later, Stiles cannot sleep. Allison is resting peacefully, as she has every night since her engagement to Mr. McCall, but Stiles is plagued by the tense conversation between himself and Lord Peter. He sits by the window, staring out at the night sky, and when the sun begins to make the black turn to a murky grey, he sets out for a walk in the field. 

 

It’s cool in the wee hours of dawn. He should have brought a coat, but he’ll warm up soon enough when the sun comes up. As the grey of the sky turns to a soft pink, he spots a figure walking toward him from the other side of the field. He’s curious. On all of his early morning walks, he’s never encountered another, and settles upon greeting whoever it is. 

 

He makes out a fine white shirt, black breeches, and a black long coat before realizing it’s Mr. Hale. He wonders at why Mr. Hale is walking in a field at dawn, but as he draws nearer, it’s clear that he’s been just as restless as Stiles. His hair is messier than Stiles has ever seen it, his stubble has grown into a soft beard, but it doesn't detract from him. He’s still so, so handsome. Stiles feels his heart flutter in his chest at the sight of him. 

 

They’re quiet for a moment as they meet, the soft light catching all of the colors of Mr. Hale’s eyes. 

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Stiles admits softly. 

 

“I couldn’t either,” Mr. Hale says, voice softer than Stiles has ever heard it. “My uncle…”

 

“He was here a few days ago,” Stiles says when Mr. Hale trails off.

 

“How can I ever make that up to you?” Mr. Hale says, and Stiles cannot look away from his beautiful eyes. 

 

“After all you’ve done for Mason, and I suspect for Allison, it is I that owes you,” Stiles says. 

 

“No,” Mr. Hale shakes his head. “You must know, surely you must know that it was all for you.”

 

Stiles is left speechless. He had suspected deep down that it might have been  _ because _ of him, but never had he dreamed any of Mr. Hale’s deeds had been  _ for _ him. 

 

“You are too generous to trifle with me,” Mr. Hale says, the corner of his mouth tilting up almost imperceptibly. “What you said to my uncle, it gave me reason to hope where I scarcely allowed myself before. If your feelings are still what they were last spring, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

 

Mr. Hale steps closer to Stiles when no objection is readily made, and Stiles is caught by the suspense, needing to hear every word Mr. Hale says, craving him in a way he’s never known.

 

“But,” Mr. Hale begins, “if your feelings  _ have _ changed, I must tell you that you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I never wish to be parted from you. I love you still, now more than ever.”

 

“Well, then,” Stiles says, taking a small step close to Mr. Hale, to  _ Derek _ , to the alpha that he's wanted for longer than he's known, to the alpha he can still have, can still call his own.

 

His whole body shudders in pleasure at finally allowing himself to think this alpha’s given name. It sounds perfect. They’re so close that Stiles can feel Derek’s body heat bleed into his clothes, chasing away the chill. He reaches down and takes Derek’s hands into his own, smiling up at the alpha.

 

“Your hands are cold,” Derek says, shrugging off his coat and wrapping it around Stiles’s shoulders, surrounding the omega in his rich alpha scent.

 

It’s enough to have his eyes glow gold, and Derek’s flash red in response. Stiles isn’t sure who moves first then, but he tilts his head up just in time for their lips to meet. Derek holds him close, pressing their bodies together, and Stiles melts against him, fingers clutching at Derek’s shirt as he lets Derek take his mouth slowly and deliberately, his whole being finally feeling right in the arms of his alpha. 

 

~*~

 

They watch the sunrise together, sharing sweet kisses until Stiles is sure his father is awake. He takes Derek by the hand and leads him back to the manor, a smile permanently fixed to his face. Derek cannot seem to help himself either, and Stiles resolves right then and there to make sure Derek is always smiling. He’s far too beautiful when he’s happy.

 

Derek goes in to meet with his father first and Stiles waits apprehensively. He sends Liam and Malia away, but cannot do the same to Allison, who insists on knowing what is going on in their father’s study. When he tells her, she is beyond belief.

 

“I thought you disliked him,” she says. 

 

“Not for a long time,” Stiles admits. 

 

“And you’re certain?” she asks.

 

“Very,” Stiles smiles. “Would you like to have him as a brother?”

 

“I think nothing would make myself or Scott happier,” she replies. “Please promise me you’re in love. I cannot bear the thought of you mating without affection.”

 

“It came on gradually, I’ll admit,” Stiles says. “But I do love him. Very much. And he loves me.”

 

“I am so happy for you,” Allison says, throwing her arms around him as the door to their father’s study opens.

 

Derek emerges in one piece, looking pale but hopeful. Stiles gives him a quick smile, warmth spreading through his body at the sight of the alpha--hopefully  _ his _ alpha--again. He's so gone on Derek. And Derek smiles back, just as hopelessly taken. 

 

Stiles reluctantly slips into his father's study, hoping that none of his siblings find Derek and harass him. It would be just his luck.

 

“I hope you were nice to him,” Stiles says after he shuts the door to the study and turns to face his father.

 

“I was pleasant,” John says. “Not that I could deny a man that wealthy anything he asked.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, he knows not what, but his father beats him to it.

 

“I haven't consented yet,” John warns Stiles. “But I'm willing to defy all manner of custom to protect you. Is this, is  _ he _ what you really want?” he asks, his face full of surprise and concern. 

 

“He is,” Stiles answers.

 

“I thought you hated him,” John says. “When did that change?”

 

“I'm not sure of the exact moment,” Stiles says, a small smile creeping up on him. “Do you have any other objections to him than your belief in my indifference.”

 

“None that I can think of,” John says. “We all know him to be a proud, disagreeable alpha, but this would mean nothing if you really liked him.”

 

“I do like him,” Stiles says before looking his father in the eyes to let him know he’s telling the absolute truth. “I love him. He’s not what I thought. We've had him all wrong. He's kind and gentle, and he's done so much to help us.”

 

“What has he done?” John asks, leaning toward Stiles.

 

Stiles tells him of Mason and Allison and watches as his father catalogues every deed.

 

“I have to--I need--”

 

“No!” Stiles says quickly, pushing his father to remain seated. “He doesn't want anything.”

 

“Just you,” John says heavily, and Stiles nods. “Oh, Stiles. I wish your mother were here. She'd be so happy.”

 

“You'll consent?” Stiles asks, hope fluttering wildly in his chest.

 

“He'll make you happy?” John asks. “Truly happy?”

 

“Yes, he will,” Stiles grins.

 

“It pains me to think that anyone could deserve you, but I could not have parted with you to anyone less worthy,” John consents and Stiles flings himself into his father's arms.

 

“Thank you, Papa,” Stiles breathes, happier than he's ever been. 

 

When he leaves the study, he finds Allison and Derek together in the hallway, both anxiously awaiting his return. 

 

“Well?” Allison asks, looking up at Derek before glancing back to Stiles.

 

“He’ll consent,” Stiles breaks out into a smile at the same time as Derek.

 

The alpha sweeps him up into his arms and kisses him soundly while Allison gasps and sighs beside them in delight. When they part, Derek smiles at him and runs his fingers across Stiles’s cheek into his hair, and he knows without a doubt that this is his future.

  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mating ceremonies! And an ending? I'm still working on the very last bit with the stuff that Jane Austen would probably not appreciate being associated with her work. 
> 
> Or maybe not. We'll never know.

Derek takes Stiles’s hand as they walk through the various fields and woods surrounding the Stilinski house days later. Stiles has never been so happy, nor did he ever believe himself capable of such a pure emotion. He’s in love, and he is loved in return.

 

But he is still rather curious and cannot help pestering Derek about things.

 

“Tell me how you fell in love with me,” Stiles requests.

 

Derek squeezes his hand before bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back as he inhales Stiles’s scent. It makes Stiles’s heart flutter at the romantic, intimate gesture. 

 

“I cannot say with any certainty when it began,” Derek admits. “I was well in the middle of falling before I’d even realized I had begun.”

 

“I did not make it easy for you,” Stiles adds. “You must have have thought me quite uncivil, and I know I meant to pain you every time we talked more often than I care to admit. Was it my impertinent nature that drew you in?”

 

“You do have a lively mind,” Derek smiles. “And it did inspire admiration.”

 

“Hah! I suspect that once you got a taste of the wild, you grew dissatisfied with those who sought your constant approval,” Stiles guesses saucily. “For what are simpering sycophants compared to a lowborn omega who speaks his mind?”

 

“To be sure,” Derek laughs, a beautiful sound. “Was I so transparent?”

 

“Not at all!” Stiles assures him. “I am curious, though. When you called with Mr. McCall, why did you look as if you did not care about me?”

 

“You were focused on Mr. McCall and quite serious,” Derek shrugs. “And you gave me no encouragement.”

 

“I was embarrassed,” Stiles admits.

 

“As was I,” Derek says. 

 

“You could have talked to me,” Stiles says. “I don’t bite.”

 

Derek fixes him with a  _ look _ .

 

“Oh, very well,” Stiles sighs. “I don’t bite  _ hard _ .”

 

But Derek would. Stiles can tell. Beneath the composed exterior of a perfect gentleman is a tightly coiled, powerful alpha wolf, a predator and a protector. It makes Stiles weak in the knees sometimes to know that this alpha is  _ his _ alpha.

 

“An alpha who felt less than I did might have done so,” Derek finally responds.

 

“I wonder how long you might have continued in silence had your uncle not have taken it upon himself to intervene, my dear taciturn Mr. Hale,” Stiles muses teasingly.

 

“Once I had discovered he’d visited you, I had to come see you, to know everything,” Derek admits.

 

“I am reluctant to credit Lord Peter with anything, but I am glad he came here if it brought you to me,” Stiles says. “Is that why you stayed at Netherfield with Mr. McCall?”

 

“Though I needed to right the wrong of separating your sister from McCall, my real purpose in coming back was to see you, even if it was from afar, and to determine if I might ever hope to earn your love and affection,” Derek confesses. 

 

“I am very glad you did,” Stiles says. “Knowing that I loved you but had ruined my chances ate at me like nothing else.”

 

“Nothing brings me more pleasure than seeing you happy and knowing it is my doing,” Derek says. 

 

“Do you think your uncle will be angry at the news of us?” Stiles asks, changing the subject.

 

“Oh, very,” Derek says. “He’s mostly talk and wouldn’t dare follow through on any threats against you now that we’re to be mated, but I doubt I’ll be able to show my face at Rosings for quite some time.”

 

“You don’t seem very upset about that prospect,” Stiles observes.

 

“He and my mother were never close, and neither are he and myself,” Derek says. “My priorities have always concerned Cora far more than my extended relatives.”

 

“Speaking of, I must ask about your pack, in particular Miss Martin,” Stiles begins. “I always got the impression that she had her eye on you. Have we disappointed her expectations as well?”

 

“Hardly,” Derek snorts. “Lydia has been in a long engagement with Jordan Parrish, who has been deployed overseas for two years. They’re to mate when he returns. She’s just amusing herself with tormenting me.”

 

“So that spectacle at Netherfield when Ally took ill?” 

 

“Purely a game to expose all of your faults and lack of social grace to me,” Derek says. “But as you’ve already pointed out, it only endeared you to me and made me want and respect you.”

 

“I see,” Stiles says. “She also may have inferred to Allison that Mr. McCall and Cora were to be mated. How do you account for that?”

 

“You know by now that that is patently false,” Derek bristles a little at the machinations of his pack member. “Cora and Isaac are engaged to be mated after she turns eighteen. Lydia for a time shared my opinion of your family, and she is a much bigger snob about that than I--”

 

“Well, you’re rich enough and high enough in status for it to not matter as much to you,” Stiles points out bluntly before he can stop himself, cringing at his own words. “I only meant that your circumstance allows you to overlook certain things that others may not.”

 

“You speak the truth,” Derek says, soothing him. “And I cannot fault you for that which has compelled me to love you.”

 

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Stiles asks fondly.

 

“I wonder the same thing,” Derek smiles.

 

~*~

 

Allison and Mr. McCall are mated the following week. It is a beautiful ceremony. Mr. McCall looks dashing in his suit, and Allison looks like an angel in her white and blue dress. Their father sheds a tear or two when they kiss, and Derek, a warm and reassuring presence at his side, holds his hand.

 

When Mr. McCall gives Allison the bite, Stiles feels himself flush, knowing that in just a few short days, it will be him on the dais, Derek holding him as he sinks his teeth into Stiles’s neck. It’s enough that he has to fan himself while Derek looks at him queerly, probably getting an obscene nose-full of Stiles’s pheromones. 

 

There is a party after the ceremony, and then Mr. McCall takes Allison back to Netherfield for their first night as a mated pair. Stiles is happy for her and sees her off with a tight hug and a kiss to her cheek. He’s never see her like this. She’s almost glowing in her marital bliss. 

 

The party winds down as the night grows longer, and after all of the guests have left, Stiles herds Liam and Malia to bed while John invites Derek into his study for a drink. Stiles retires to his room a little while later after having received a sweet kiss from his intended. It’s odd to be alone in this room, but Stiles knows it is one of his last nights here in his childhood home, and he chooses to focus on his future with Derek instead of feeling sad.

 

In two days, he’ll be on his way to Pemberley, he’ll be mated, and he’ll be Stiles Hale. That thought makes him smile. They’d discussed his name at length not two days ago. Derek had offered, as is the custom of those of Stiles’s status, to allow him to retain his name, but Stiles declined. He wants to be Derek’s in every way possible. He’ll always be a Stilinski, but after everything Derek is giving him, after everything he has risked to be with him, Stiles wants to give him this. Derek’s eyes had flashed red when Stiles had told him, and he had dug his claws into the palms of his own hands, his reaction had been so visceral. Stiles knew then that he had made the right decision.

 

He listens a while later as Derek leaves for Netherfield, and falls asleep to the sound of his father getting ready for bed.

 

~*~

 

The morning of their mating ceremony, Stiles is nervous. He’s fretting over every little thing and everyone is avoiding him. Malia had abandoned him quickly, Liam not long after, and his father has been suspiciously absent. He’s alone with his thoughts and nerves until Allison comes to his rescue. 

 

“Ally!” Stiles exclaims, wrapping her in his arms tightly.

 

She smells different to him now, still herself but slightly of Mr. McCall as well, and Stiles is happy for her. When they part, he tries his best to notice any physical change, but she looks the same except for a healthy flush to her cheeks and a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

 

“You’re panicking,” she says.

 

“A little?” he responds. “How did you do it?”

 

“I thought about Scott,” she says, smiling as his name tumbles from her lips.

 

“And it worked?” Stiles asks.

 

“Of course not,” Allison says. “I was still nervous, but I knew it would be worth it. You’re not having doubts, are you?”

 

“No,” Stiles shakes his head. “Not a single one.”

 

“Good,” Allison smiles. “Because he doesn't either. I’ve never seen a man more determined.”

 

“Really?” Stiles asks.

 

“Would I lie to you about this?” she asks.

 

“I daresay, you wouldn’t,” Stiles says.

 

“Then believe me when I say everything will be alright,” she assures him. “Now, let’s get you dressed!”

 

She helps him into his suit and then takes him downstairs to their father before taking Liam and Malia with her in her carriage to the hall where the ceremony is to be held. John looks him over with a sad look in his eyes as their carriage pulls around. They climb in and ride in silence until John breaks it moments away from the hall.

 

“I asked your sister the same question, so don’t get insulted or anything,” John begins. “Are you certain this is what you want? Are you ready for what mating an alpha means?”

 

“I am,” Stiles answers without hesitation and his father smiles. 

 

“I know you are,” he says, pulling out his handkerchief and dabbing at his eyes. “I just needed to know that you knew. I’m so proud and happy for you, Stiles.”

 

His father doesn’t get another word out as Stiles flings himself into his father’s arms.

 

“I love you, Papa,” Stiles says. “And I love him, and he will take perfect care of me. I swear it.”

 

“I know he will,” John says softly, holding on just as tight. “I will be very proud to call him son. You have chosen well.”

 

Stiles can’t help but shed a tear at that, at the last moments of his childhood with his father, at leaving this all behind to start a life with Derek. 

 

They arrive at the hall and exit the carriage. John makes sure Stiles looks perfect and Stiles does the same, a pang of sadness but a thrill of excitement warring inside of him. Deeming each other fit to proceed, Stiles takes his father’s arm and they enter the building. The music starts and John walks Stiles down the aisle to Derek, who’s looking at Stiles with such reverence that it fills him with wonder. 

 

Once they reach the dais, John puts Stiles’s hand in Derek’s, and then it’s only them. Stiles doesn’t remember what is said, and he can’t be bothered to pay attention to anything other than Derek, standing in front of him, looking far too handsome in his suit. The ceremony passes in a blur, and they’re declared mates before Stiles realizes any time has passed. 

 

When Derek kisses him, it’s soft at first, but his kiss turns more possessive when Stiles leans into him, giving in to the heat he always feels deep down when Derek touches him. Derek pulls away briefly and Stiles looks at him, blinking a few times before taking in how wild and passionate Derek looks in that moment. He wonders if anyone else can see the cracks in the alpha’s normally perfect composure. 

 

“Are you ready?” Derek asks low enough so that only Stiles can hear. 

 

Stiles knows what he’s asking and nods his assent, heart jumping in his chest as Derek takes control, one hand pulling him flush and holding him against Derek’s hard, hot chest. The other hand he uses to tilt Stiles’s head, nosing briefly at the sensitive skin. Stiles’s heart is racing, his breath is quick and shallow, and his hands are trembling as he clutches at Derek’s coat. He shudders in Derek’s arms as the alpha’s warm breath tickles his neck, and his gut clenches in anticipation of what is to come. 

 

There’s a slight rumble from Derek, and then he bites down. Stiles gasps as sharp teeth sink into his skin. His eyes flash gold and his mouth drops open as the pleasure of the bite washes over him. Derek hangs on for a second longer as the bond takes hold, flaring to life between them, making Stiles feel things he’d never thought possible. The adoration and love he feels from Derek through their bond humbles him, and he makes sure Derek feels how much he loves him as well. 

 

Derek gives him a lick and presses a kiss to the bite before pulling back and smiling, red teeth matching red eyes. Stiles can’t help but return the smile. Derek takes his hand and steps back, turning them to those gathered in attendance as the official announces them alpha and omega. Mr. Derek and Stiles Hale.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a good place for the T rating to stop. I'm still deliberating whether or not to attach the extended not T rated ending to this or to make it part of a series but also separate from the main fic. For those interested, the rating will jump from T to E, because I'm incapable of not writing that, apparently. 
> 
> Also, thanks for reading! If you liked it, please comment if you have the time/inclination. Writers do this for fun and we always feel better knowing someone liked something we did. This was also done in the spirit of fun and absurdity and is in no way serious, so please don't take it seriously. Also, if you liked this and haven't read Pride and Prejudice, I highly recommend doing so, just because it's a great book and a great story. :)


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